•H 


p 


[UNIVERSITY 


OF 


WILSON'S 

•JOOK  OF  RECITATIONS  AND  DIALOGUES. 


WITH   INSTRUCTIONS   IN 

ELOCUTION  AND   DECLAMATION,  •!  ;  - 

CONTAINING  A   CHOICE   SELECTION   OF 

POETICAL    AND    PROSE    RECITATIONS 
AND    ORIGINAL    COLLOQUIES. 

/ 

DESIGNED   AS   A 


LEADING   BOOK    FOR     CLASSES;    AND    AS    AN    ASSISTANT    TO 

TEACHERS  AND  STUDENTS  IN  PREPARING 

EXHIBITIONS. 


BY    FLOYD    B.    WILSON, 

INSTRUCTOR    IN  ELOCUTION   AND    MATHEMATICS,    CENTRAL   HIGH   SCHOOL, 
CLEVELAND,    OHIO. 


NEW  YORK: 

DICK    &    FITZGERALD,     PUBLISHERS. 


¥••/. 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1869, 

By  DICK  &  FITZGERALD, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


PREFACE. 


BUT  few  words  are  necessary  as  introductory  to  this  brief 
manual.  It  is  offered  to  the  student  as  an  assistant  and 
guide  in  the  study  of  Reading  and  Elocution.  A  full  analy- 
sis of  tones  of  voice  is  given,  and  a  carefully  prepared 
chart.  The  rules  are  exceedingly  brief  and  to  the  point. 
To  all  students  we  can  but  say  this :  The  art  of  Elocution 
is  within  your  reach;  barriers  may  seemingly  rise  before 
you,  but  you  can  surmount  them ;  do  not  be  in  haste ; 
master  thoroughly  the  principles  laid  down  in  the  first 
few  pages,  then  with  care  study  each  selection,  and  you 
will  succeed. 

The  Colloquies,  which  are  original,  appear  now  for  the 
first  time.  The  selections  have  been  collated  with  special 
regard  to  freshness  of  matter  and  adaptability  to  the  design 
of  the  work. 

We  now  place  this  volume  in  your  hands,  with  the  hope 
that  it  may  be  the  means  of  rendering  the  subject  of  Elocu- 
tion more  attractive ;  and  that  all  may  be  encouraged  to 
cultivate  those  great  gifts  of  God  to  man,  Voice  and  Action. 

3 


869044: 


CONTENTS. 


INSTRUCTION  IN  ELOCUTION  AND  DECLAMATION 7 

RECITATIONS  AND  DIALOGUES— 

Address  at  the  Dedication  of  the  Cemetery  at  Gettysburg- 19 

Sheridan's  Ride 20 

There's  but  One  Pair  of  Stockings  to  Mend  To-night 21 

Modulation 21 

The  Drummer  Boy's  Burial 25 

The  Pilot 27 

The  Soldiers'  Return.     A  Colloquy 29 

Burial  of  the  Champion  of  his  Class  at  Yale  College 37 

Scott  and  the  Veteran 38 

Barbara  Frietcliie 4G 

I  wouldn't — Would  You  ? 42 

The  Professor  Puzzled.   A  Colloquy 44 

Thanatopsis 4S 

The  Two  Roads 50 

The  Pawnbroker's  Shop 51 

The  Sophomore's  Soliloquy 53 

The  Nation's  Hymn 54 

A(Wres3  to  a  Skeleton 53 

A  Glass  of  Cold  Water 57 

New  Years'  Eve 58 

The  Song  of  Sherman's  Army 61 

The  Sea  Captain's  Story 63, 

Our  Heroes 65 

The  Closing  Year G6 

Burial  of  Little  Nell 69 

The  Picket-Guard 74 

The  Poor  Man  and  the  Fiend 75 

Our  Country's  Call 77 

The  Orphan's  Triumph.    A  Colloquy 79 

Poem  Read  at  the  Founding  of  Gettysburg  Monument 89 

Spartacus  to  the  Gladiators 94 

Soliloquy  of  the  Dying  Alchemist 93 

Reconstruction.    A  Colloquy 100 

Unjust  National  Acquisition 102 

Dimes  and  Dollar^ 105 

The  Dead  Drummer-Boy 107 

Home 108 

responsibility  of  American  Citizen? 110 


O  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The  Smack  in  School 1 12 

Left  on  the  Battle-Field 113 

The  American  Flag 114 

Oh  !  Why  Should  the  Spirit  of  Mortal  bo  Proud  ? 116 

Parrhasius 118 

The  Vagabonds 121 

A  Bridal  Wine-Cup 121 

Blanche  of  Devan's  Last  Words 127 

Widow  Bedott  to  Elder  Sniffles 128 

A  Psalm  of  the  Union 129 

Charge  of  a  Dutch  Magistrate ." 130 

Stars  in  My  Country's  Sky 131 

Bingen  on  the  Rhine 132 

The  Religious  Character  of  President  Lincoln 134 

The  Raven 136 

The  Loyal  Legion 140 

Agnes  and  the  Years 144 

Catiline's  Defiance 146 

Our  Folks 147 

The  Beautiful  Snow 149 

The  Ambitious  Youth 151 

The  Flag  of  Washington 155 

The  Abbot  of  Waltham 156 

Ode  to  an  Infant  Son 157 

The  Scholar's  Mission 158 

Claude  Melnotte's  Apology  and  Defence 160 

The  Forging  of  the  Anchor 162 

The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus 164 

The  Man  of  Ross 167 

No  Work  the  Hardest  Work 168 

What  is  Time  ? 170 

Brutus's  Oration  over  the  Body  of  Lucretia, 171 

What  is  That,  Mother  ? 173 

A  Colloquy  With  Myself 174 

Saint  Philip  Neri  and  the  Youth 176 

The  Chameleon 177 

Henry  the  Fourth's  Soliloquy  on  Sleep 179 

On  Procrastination 1 80 

APPENDIX...  ...*...   182 


INSTKUCTION   IN 
ELOCUTION  AND  DECLAMATION. 


ANALYSIS    OF    PRINCIPLES.,    ,          ... 

"  ELOCUTION  includes  the  whole  theory  and  practice  of  the 
principles  which  govern  the  outward  exhibition  of  the  in- 
ward workings  of  the  inind." 

POSITION. 

In  standing  or  sitting,  the  person  should  be  erect ;  the 
shoulders  well  thrown  back,  weight  resting  mainly  on  either 
right  or  left  foot,  when  standing.  Be  perfectly  free  and 
easy  in  your  position,  let  no  part  of  the  body  be  contracted 
in  any  manner. 

BREATHING. 

Daily  practice  of  deep  breathing  develops  the  power  of  the 
lungs  and  the  volume  of  the  voice.  Always  breathe  through 
the  nose.  Place  thumbs  upon  abdomen,  throw  the  shoulders 
"back,  inhale  long  breath,  exhale,  placing  the  lips  so  as  to 
form  element  "  o."  Change  position  and  again  continue  the 
practice. 

It  has  been  decided  by  physicians  that  more  cases  of  hoarse- 
ness, pulmonary  consumption,  etc.,  come  from  improper 
breathing  than  all  other  causes  combined.  Too  much  stress 
cannot  be  placed  upon  the  above  exercise. 

EMBARRASSMENT. 

Embarrassment  ever  presents  itself  as  the  first  barrier  to 
'the  -   --ing  reader.      Several  causes  may  produce  it ;  yet  the 


8  ELOCUTION    AND    DECLAMATION. 

chief  cause  is  improper  use  of  the  breathing  apparatus.  The 
moment  before  a  person  is  about  to  read  or  speak,  he  fre- 
quently works  himself  into  a  sort  of  an  excitement,  and  takes 
short  and  quick  breaths.  A  few  moments  after  he  begins  to 
road,  he  overcomes  this  ;  yet  a  blunder  on  the  first  sentence 
often  causes  a  total  failure.  A  calm,  modest,  yet  command- 
ing bearing  carries  with  it  a  world  of  weigh  ti  To  overcome 
embarrassment,  keep  in  mind  this  simple  rule,  Inhale  and  ex- 
r.a<£  four  \long  breads  just  before  you  attempt  to  speak  or  read. 
Hundreds,  9f  my  students  will  attest  its  value ;  the  causes 
a,re  cd?e<i  above. ,  • .  - 

STAMMERING. 

Stammering  may  result  from  several  causes.  There  may 
be  some  defect  in  the  organs  of  speech  ;  such  being  the  case, 
physicans  have  pronounced  it  incurable.  It  generally  re- 
sults from  embarrassment  and  haste.  "We  would  follow  the 

% 

same  principle  as  in  embarrassment,  simply :  Divide  the 
attention,  and  the  stammerer  is  cured.  Those  that  stammer 
sing  with  ease.  Take  a  person  that  stammers,  request  him 
to  strike  his  hand  on  table,  book,  or  something,  and  count 
with  you ;  next  let  him  speak  words  instead  of  counting  and 
he  will  not  stammer.  By  beating  time  when  he  speaks,  his 
attention  is  divided,  and  soon  stammering,  which  is  habit  in 
nine  cases  out  of  ten,  will  be  completely  cured. 

ENUNCIATION. 

Much  has  been  said  and  written  on  the  culture  of  the  hu- 
man voice,  and  in  a  brief  treatise  like  this  we  do  not  propose 
to  enter  into  a  full  consideration  of  the  breathing  and  vocal 
apparatus.  "We  would  refer  the  student  to  "  Rush  on  the 
Human  Voice."  "We  will  confine  our  remarks  mainly  to  the 
exposition  of  principles  that  will  work  results. 

Yoice  comes  to  us  like  other  of  God's  gifts,  not  perfect. 
We  lisp  before  wo  speak ;  yet  men  in  this  practical  world 
ofttimes  regard  this  gift  as  perfect  and  complete  in  itself,  not 
a  talent  to  be  cultivated  and  developed  by  proper  study. 


ELOCUTION    AND    DECLAMATION.  9 

History  has  told  us  repeatedly,  that  men  are  not  born  ora- 
tors. By  long  and  continued  study  have  they  attained  emi- 
nence. 

A  clear  and  distinct  utterance,  a  full  and  deep  tone  con- 
stitute the  basis  of  all  good  reading.  Each  element,  each 
syllable,  each  word  should  have  its  due  proportion  of  sound. 
To  cultivate  clearness,  practise  daily  upon  the  vowel 
sounds.  Give  the  sound  both  low  and  high,  loud  and  soft, 
deep  and  aspirated.  Follow  this  practice  with  certain  com- 
binations of  consonants  that  you  have  found  difficult  to 
enunciate  ;  then  syllables,  words,  and  finally  sentences. 

The  vowel  sounds  are  given  below  for  individual  or  class 
practice. 

A,  long,  as  in  ale,  fate,  gray. 

A,  short,  as  in  add,  fat,  have. 

A,  Italian,  as  in  arm,  father,  palrn. 

A,  broad,  as  in  all,  talk,  swarm. 

A,  as  in  ask,  class,  grass. 

A,  as  in  fare,  dare,  air. 

E,  long,  as  in  me,  mete,  peace. 
E,  short,  as  in  met,  end,  check. 
E,  like  a,  as  in  ere,  there,  heir. 
I,  long,  as  in  ice,  fine,  mire. 
I,  short,  as  in  ill,  it,  fin. 
O,  long,  as  in  old,  note,  loaf. 
O,  short,  as  in  odd,  not,  torrid. 

0,  like  long  oo,  as  in  move,  do,  tomb. 
U,  long,  as  in  use,  tube,  lute. 

U,  short,  as  in  us,  tub,  but. 

U,  like  short  oo,  as  in  pull,  push,  put. 

01,  as  in  oil,  join,  moist. 
Ou,  as  in  out,  hound,  thou. 

A  few  of  the  consonants  arc  given  below,  they  should  be 
treated,  in  the  practice,  as  the  vowels  in  the  preceding  table  : 

B,  as  in  bat,  bag,  but. 
D,  as  in  dun,  did,  need. 


10  ELOCUTION    AND    DECLAMATION. 

F,  as  in  fit,  fame,  fife. 

L,  as  in  let,  bell,  knell. 

M,  as  in  man,  drum,  rum. 

N,  as  in  nun,  nay,  wind. 

Ng,  as  in  song,  ring,  king. 

R,  as  in  rap,  run,  round. 

Th,  as  in  thine,  thus,  beneath. 

Z,  as  in  zeal,  maze,  was. 

Zh,  as  in  vision,  leisure,  azure. 

Sh,  as  in  shun,  shade,  sash. 

Other  of  the  vowel  or  consonants  sounds  may  be  given  and 
practised,  if  the  teacher  or  pupil  find  it  necessary.  Particu- 
lar attention  should  be  given  to  the  sounds  of  long  e  and  «, 
broad  a  and  long  o,  which  is  one  of  the  clearest  sounds  in  the 
language.  Of  the  consonants  m,  n,  and  I  are  remarkable  for 
their  musical  sound.  Drum,  wind,  and  bell  are  fine  examples 
to  illustrate.  Dwell  upon  these  elements  in  enunciating  the 
word. 

Master  these  elements  and  you  will  have  advanced  a  step 
in  the  cultivation  of  the  voice. 

A  few  words  frequently  mispronounced,  and  a  few  test 
sentences  are  given  below. 

What,  when  ;  banishment,  punishment,  government ;  and, 
command  ;  real,  ideal ;  last,  past ;  poem  ;  exhausted  ;  idea  ; 
aye  ;  lexicon,  Creator,  orator  ;  brightness,  fondness  ;  home  ; 
bell,  wind,  drum  ;  rapping ;  personification,  valetudinarian, 
congratulation,  intercommunication. 

(1.)  "  Round  the  rude  ring  the  ragged  rascals  ran." 

(2.)  "  The  wild  beasts  struggled  through  the  thickest 
shade."  » 

(3.)  "  The  swinging  swain  swiftly  swept  the  swinging 
sweep." 

•  (4.)  "  The  stripling  stranger  strayed  through  the  strug- 
gling stream." 

(5.)  "  Up  the  hill  he  heaves  the  huge  round  stone." 
These  words  and  sentences  should  first  be  pronounced  by 
the  teacher  ;  and  then  simultaneously  by  tlie  class,  as  a  con- 


ELOCUTION    AND    DECLAMATION.  11 

cert  exercise,  at  first  slowly,  then  more  and  more  rapidly. 
By  this  means  the  most  timid  will  be  relieved  of  embarrass- 
ment. 

The  tone,  time,  and  pitch  are  ever  changing.  Monotone 
means  not  only  one  tone,  but  a  corresponding  sameness  or 
oneness  of  time  and  pitch.  Some  selections  require  the  mon- 
otone, but  it  is  chiefly  confined  to  solemn  discourse. 

VOICE. 

Voice  is  an  audible  sound  made  by  the  breath.  No  sound 
can  be  made  without  breath,  no  full  and  clear  sound,  unless 
the  lungs  be  properly  inflated. 

We  have  two  divisions  of  tone,  which  may  be  denominated 
the  Pure  and  the  Impure. 

The  Pure  tone  is  where  all  the  breath  is  vocalized. 

The  Impure  tone  is  where  all  the  breath  is  not  vocalized. 

There  are  several  subdivisions  that  we  give  below,  in  the 
form  of  a  chart.  By  study  a  clear  conception  of  all  the 
tones  can  be  learned  from  it.  The  Orotund  is  simply  deeper 
and  fuller  than  the  Pure. 

f    p    .  j  Effusive. 

-T)  /       Lre'       >•       -IN    /  Expulsive. 

*  Pure.    •>  (or  unemotional).   '  E1£sive_ 

[     Orotund'  I  Expulsive. 

(  Guttural. 
Impure.   <  Aspirate. 
(  Tremor. 

The  Pure  effusive  tone  might  bo  compared  to  the  so- 
prano in  singing.  Pure  expulsive  to  the  alto.  Orotund 
effusive  to  the  tenor ;  and  the  Orotund  expulsive  to  the 
bass.  The  quality  of  the  voice  is  quite  clearly  indicated  in 
the  names  of  the  other  tones.  ~No  work  on  this  topic  can 
supply  the  placo  of  a  living  teacher.  We  cite  a  few  examples 
for  a  drill  exercise  on  the  qualities  of  the  voice. 

Pure,  effttsive  : 

"  I  really  take  it  very  kind — • 
This  visit,  Mrs.  Skinner, 


12  ELOCUTION    AND    DECLAMATION. 

I  have  not  seen  yon  for  an  age  — 
(The  wretch  has  come  to  dinner  !") 

Pure,  expulsive  : 

"  There  his  voice  grew  low  and  faltering  ;  slowly  came  each 

painful  breath  ; 
Two  brave  forms  laid  side  by  side,  then  death  had  loved  a 

shining  mark  ; 

And  two  sad  mothers  say,  '  It  lias  grown  dark,  ah,  very 
dark  !  '  " 

Orotund,  effusive  : 

(1.)  "  I  go  ;  but  not  to  leap  the  gulf  alone." 
(2.)  "  By  all  the  fiery  stars  !  I'd  bind  it  on  !  " 

Orotund,  expulsive  : 

(1.)  Charge,  soldiers,  charge  !  " 

(2.)  "  I  know  not  what  course  others  may  take,  but,  as  for 
me,  give  me  liberty,  or  give  me  death/' 

Guttural  : 

(1.)  <:  And  there  are  times  when,  mad  with  thinking, 

I'd  sell  out  Heaven  for  something  warm, 

To  prop  a  horrible  inward  sinking." 
(2.)  "  I  hate  him,  for  he  is  a  Christian." 

Aspirate  : 

(1.)  "  Hush  !  hark  !  A  deep  sound  strikes  like  a  rising  knell  !  " 
(2.)  "  Listen  !  I  heard  a  footstep,  no  !  'tis  gone." 

Tremor  : 

(1.)  "  Pity  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  old  man. 

Whose  trembling  limbs  have  borne  him  to  your  door.'7 
(2.)  "  The  groan,  the  knell,  the  pall,  the  bier, 

And  all  we  know,  or  dream,  or  fear, 

Of  agony  are  thine." 


These  examples  will  serve  to  giro  tlie  student  a  clear  idea 
of  "  tones  ;"  numerous  selections  will  be  found  in  Part  Second 
for  class  drill  and  practice.  Some  simple  sentence  might  be 
selected  by  the  teacher  to  be  recited  by  the  whole  class  in  all 
the  various  tones.  This  will  be  found  a  valuable  exercise. 
"  Com:*  one,  come  all  "  —  is  well  adapted  for  such  an  exercise. 


ELOCUTION    AND    DECLAMATION.  13 

It  is  very  seldom  that  a  whole  selection  is  read  in  one  tone 
of  voice  throughout.  The  ear  would  tire,  were  this  the  case  ; 
and  the  most  interesting  subject  would  lose  all  interest.  The 
student  must  decide,  to  a  great  extent,  what  tone  should  be 
used.  Cultivate  the  low  and  deep  tones,  the  expulsive  pure 
and  orotund.  Deep  breathing  will  be  found  very  beneficial 
to  the  cultivation  of  these  tones.  The  aspirate  has  a  power 
that  at  times  cannot  bo  overestimated.  In.  the  sentence, 
"  He  knew  me,  smiled  faintly,  gasped,  and  died  " — the  word 
"  gasped  "  should  be  given  in  the  full  aspirate,  and  the  word 
"  died  "  in  what  might  be  termed  a  mingling  of  the  aspirate 
and  tremor. 

The  guttural  is  used  extensively  in  expressions  of  denun- 
ciation, revenge,  etc.  'Tis  a  very  unpleasant  tone  ;  and  the 
throat  may  be  exceedingly  injured  by  long  and  continued 
practice.  In  the  character  of  Shy  lock  in  the  "  Merchant  of 
Venice,"  this  tone  is  chiefly  used. 

From  these  brief  remarks,  we  think  that  by  a  little  thought, 
the  qualities  of  voice  may  be  clearly  understood,  and  proper- 
ly applied. 

EMPHASIS. 

Of  this  and  many  other  important  elements  our  space  will 
force  us  to  be  very  brief.  Take  this  single  rule :  The  most 
important  word  is  the  most  emphatic.  Study  the  selection 
thoroughly,  fully  understand  the  author,  and  this  simple 
rule  will  ever  be  found  a  correct  guide. 

STRESS, 

Experience  has  taught  us  that  readers  fail  oftener  upon 
this  than  emphasis.  Prof.  Murdock  has  defined  stress  as 
the  effusive,  expulsive,  explosive.  The  effusive  is  the  unemo- 
tional or  most  natural ;  the  expulsive  is  where  the  element  is 
dwelled  -upon ;  the  explosive  is  where  the  element  is  ex- 
ploded, it  may  be  compared  to  the  cracking  of  a  whip.  Be  sure 
you  give  a  word  its  proper  stress  ;  though  you  throw  extra 


14  ELOCUTION    AND    DECLAMATION. 

forco  upon  an  emphatic  word,  you  fail  unless  you  give  that 
word  its  proper  stress. 

PITCH,    TIME,    SLIDE. 

Good  readers  do  not  pitch  their  voice  as  hign  as  poor  ones, 
nor  do  they  read  as  rapidly  as  poor  ones.  Guard  against 
these  two  errors.  In  any  sentence  where  a  doubt  is  indicated 
use  the  rising  slide,  in  other  cases  the  falling.  When  in  doubt 
concerning  which  should  be  used,  always  use  the  downward 
slide. 

GRAMMATICAL   AND   RHETORICAL    PAUSES. 

No  definite  idea  can  be  formed  of  the  exact  length  of 
pauses.  The  reader  must  be  governed  wholly  by  the  style 
of  the  selection.  The  rhetorical  pause  has  a  power  that  all 
public  speakers  and  readers  soon  learn.  We  give  this  one 
general  rule.  Before  every  important  word  or  sentence,  make  a 
pause.  Silence  always  commands  attention  ;  having  gained 
that,  the  word  or  sentence  will  fall  with  double  weight. 

POSITION,  ACTION,  GESTURE. 

Gesture  can  be  taught,  and  can  be  learned.  History  has 
confirmed  this  assertion  many  times.  Nor  will  a  person's 
gestures  be  necessarily  mechanical,  because  he  has  attained 
the  elements  of  true  grace  and  action  by  studying  the  best 
models.  One  might  as  reasonably  argue  that  the  rules  of 
gram  mar  and  rhetoric  tend  to  cr  ample  a  man's  language, 
as  that  taught  gestures  tend  to  promote  stiffness  and-  man- 
nerism. Gesture  can  be  learned  by  careful  study  and  prac- 
tice ;  yet  I  would  state  here  that  gesture  must  le  natural,  and 
consistent  throughout. 

Let  the  position  be  erect,  the  eyes  not  set,  nor  elevated  too 
much,  and  the  body  kept  firm.  Guard  against  making  too 
many  gestures  ;  and  though  enthusiasm  is  the  great  secret  of 
success,  be  not  carried  away  with  it.  One  gesture  marks  one 
idea.  The  palm  of  the  hand  should  generally  be  turned 


ELOCUTION    AND   DECLAMATION.  15 

toward  the  audience.  The  hand  should  leave  the  body  more 
closed  than  when  it  strikes  the  position  Avoid  all  angular 
movements,  ever  keep  a  circle  in  mind.  At  times,  the  hand 
may  be  placed  on  certain  parts  of  the  body  to  mark  impor- 
tant thoughts.  There  is  a  power,  a  beauty,  in  gesture.  Cul- 
tivate it  and  learn  its  mighty  force. 

EXPRESSION. 

The  countenance  is  the  index  of  the  mind.  Horace  has 
said,  "  Nature  forms  us  first  within  to  all  the  outward  cir- 
cumstances of  fortune/'  The  thought  should  be  expressed 
upon  the  countenance  ere  the  words  are  spoken.  Certain 
attitudes  may  be  assumed  at  times  to  more  fully  express  the 
idea. 

PERSONATION. 

The  importance  of  personation  is  ofttimes  overlooked.  It 
forms  a  leading  feature  in  all  critical  reading.  You  must 
first  clearly  understand  the  character  you  wish  to  personate  ; 
then  you  must  study  the  peculiarities  of  such  a  character ; 
and  your  work,  then,  is  to  imitate  true  to  life.  Action,  which 
includes  position,  gesture  and  expression,  forms  an  important 
element  in  personation.  Numerous  examples  in  personation 
will  be  found  under  Part  Second,  so  we  will  cite  none  here. 

THE  INTERJECTION. 

The  interjection  indicates  a  sigh,  groan,  surprise,  fear,  or 
some  sudden  emotion  of  the  mind.  It  is  not  necessary 
always  to  give  the  sound  indicated  by  the  letters  expressed. 
Simply  a  sigh  generally  expresses  what  the  writer  intends 
to  convey  by  the  words,  Oh !  and  Ah!  yet  in  some  cases  a 
scream  should  be  given. 

We  cite  a  few  sentences  below  for  class  and  individual 
practice.  They  form  a  fine  elocutionary  drill  for  concert 
exercises.  We  leave  the  student  to  determine  the  emphatic 
words,  the  slide,  and  the  tones  of  voice. 


16  ELOCUTION    AND    DECLAMATION. 

EXERCISES. 

(1.)  "  The  glad  cry  of  victory,  cheer  upon  cheer." 

(2.)  "  Here  sleeps  he  now  alone." 

(3.)  "  I  come  to  bury  Caesar,  not  to  praise  him." 

(-1.)  "  Have  you  forgotten,  General,"  the  battered  soldier  cried, 

The  days  of  eighteen  hundred  twelve,  when  I  was  at  your 

side." 

(5.)  "  Tell  father  when  he  comes  from  work,  I  said  good  night  to 
him." 

(6.)  "  And  hark  !  the  deep  voices  replying 

From  the  graves  where  your  fathers  are  lying : 
'  Swear !  Oh  !  swear  !'  " 

(7.)  "  I  will  not,  must  not,  dare  not  grant  your  wish." 

(8.)  "  In  those  days  came  John  the  Baptist,  preaching  in  the  wil- 
derness of  Judea,  and  saying :  '  Repent  ye,  for  the  Kingdom  of 
Heaven  is  at  hand.'  " 

(0.)  "I  would  uncover  the  breathless  corpse  of  Hamilton;  I 
would  take  from  his  wound  the  bloody  mantle,  and  would  hold  it 
up  to  Heaven  before  them ;  and  I  would  ask — in  the  name  of  God 
I  would  ask,  whether,  at  sight  of  it,  they  felt  no  compunction." 

(10.)  "  Signor  Antonio,  many  a  time  and  oft, 
In  the  Rialto  you  have  rated  me 
About  my  moneys  and  my  usances." 

(11.)  "  Grant  me  but  one  day — an  hour." 

(12.)  "  Sink  or  swim,  live  or  die,  I  am  for  the  declaration." 

(13.)  "  See  how  the  timbers  crash  beneath  his  feet ! 
0,  which  way  now  is  left  for  his  retreat  1 " 

TRUE  ELOQUENCE.— Webster. 

(14.)  When  public  bodies  are  to  be  addressed  on  momentous  oc- 
casions, when  great  interests  are  at  stake,  and  strong  passions  are 
excited,  nothing  is  valuable,  in  speech,  farther  than  it  is  connected 
with  high,  intellectual  and  moral  endowments.  Clearness,  force, 
and  earnestness,  are  the  qualities  which  produce  conviction.  True 
eloquence  indeed  does  not  consist  in  speech.  It  cannot  be  brought 
from  far.  Labor  and  learning  may  toil  for  it,  but  they  will  toil  in 


ELOCUTION    AND    DECLAMATION.  17 

vain.     Words  and  phrases  may  be  marshalled  in  every  way,  but 
they  cannot  compass  it.     It  must  exist  in  the  man,  in  the  subject, 
and  in  the  occasion. 
Subdued  Example. 
(15.)  "  If  you're  waking,  call  me  early,  call  me  early,  mother 

dear, 

For  I  would  see  the  sun  rise  upon  the  glad  New- Year, 
It  is  the  last  New-Year  that  I  shall  ever  see, 
Then  you  may  lay  me  low  in  the  mould  and  think  no  more  of  me. 
To-night  I  saw  the  sun  set !  he  set  and  left  behind 
The  good  old  year,  the  dear  old  time,  and  all  my  peace  of  mind, 
And  the  New- Year's  coming  up,  mother,  but  I  shall  never  see 
The  blossom  on  the  blackthorn,  the  leaf  upon  the  tree." 

From  the  Merchant  of  Venice. 

(16.)       PORTIA.  Do  you  confess  the  bond  7 

ANTONIO.    I  do. 

PORTIA.      Then  must  the  Jew  be  merciful. 

SHYLOCK.    On  what  compulsion  must  1 1     Tell  me  that. 

PORTIA.       The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained, 

It  droppeth  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven 
Upon  the  place  beneath  :  it  is  twice  bless'd  ; 
It  blesseth  him  that  gives,  and  him  that  takes ; 
'Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest :  it  becomes 
The  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown ; 
It  is  enthroned  in  the^hearts  of  kings  ; 
It  is  an  attribute  of  God  himself, 
And  earthly  power  doth  then  show  likest  God's 
When  mercy  seasons  justice." 

HINTS  TO  TEACHERS. 

To  be  successful  in  teaching  elocution,  one  must  be  able 
to  throw  life  and  enthusiasm  in  the  class.  This  can  be 
reached  by  no  better  means  than  through  the  medium,  of 
concert  exercises.  These  will  inspire  confidence,  and  by  this 
means,  will  the  teacher  succeed  in  bringing  out  the  voices  of 
the  class.  Too  great  an  amount  of  matter  is  frequently 
passed  over  by  classes.  "  Sparticus  "  will  alone  afford  any 
class  material  for  several  weeks'  study.  Yet  classes  need 


18  ELOCUTION    AND    DECLAMATION. 

variety ;  a  whole  recitation  should  never  be  spent  on  a  single 
selection.  The  sentences  given  at  the  close  of  the  introduc- 
tion will  aid  the  teacher  in  securing  variety.  Other  direc- 
tions will  be  found  under  the  head  of  "  Yoice,"  "  Embarrass- 
ment," "  Action,"  etc. 

Concerning  the  study  of  colloquies,  this  thought  should 
be  borne  in  mind  by  the  student :  that  he  must  forget  self 
and  live  for  the  time  in  that  character.  Too  great  stress 
cannot  be  placed  upon  action  and  position  in  producing 
colloquies  on  the  stage  at  school  exhibitions. 


RECITATIONS  AND    DIALOGUES. 


ADDEESS     AT     THE     DEDICATION     OF     THE 
CEMETEEY   AT    GETTYSBUEG. 

A.   LINCOLN,   NOV.    1864. 

FOURSCORE  and  seven  years  ago  our  fathers  brought  forth 
upon  this  continent  a  new  nation,  conceived  in  liberty,  and 
dedicated  to  the  proposition  that  all  men  are  created  equal. 
Now  we  are  engaged  in  a  great  civil  war,  testing  whether 
that  nation,  or  any  nation,  so  conceived  and  so  dedicated, 
can  long  endure.  We  are  met  on  a  great  battle-field  of  that 
war.  We  are  met  to  dedicate  a  portion  of  it  as  the  final 
resting-place  of  those  who  here  gave  their  lives  that  that 
nation  might  live.  It  is  altogether  fitting  and  proper  that 
we  should  do  this.  But  in  a  larger  sense  we  cannot  dedicate, 
we  cannot  consecrate,  we  cannot  hallow  this  ground.  The 
brave  men,  living  and  dead,  who  struggled  here,  have  con- 
secrated it  far  above  our  power  to  add  or  detract.  The  world 
will  little  note,  nor  long  remember  what  we  say  here,  but  it 
can  never  forget  what  they  did  here.  It  is  for  us,  the  living, 
rather  to  be  dedicated  here  to  the  unfinished  work  they  have 
thus  far  so  nobly  carried  on.  It  is  rather  for  us  to  be  here 
dedicated  to  the  great  task  remaining  before  us,  that  from 
these  honored  dead  we  take  increased  devotion  to  the  cause 
for  which  they  gave  the  last  full  measure  of  devotion ;  that 
we  here  highly  .resolve  that  these  dead  shall  not  have  died 
in  vain,  that  the  nation  shall,  under  God,  have  a  new  birth 
of  freedom,  and  that  the  government  of  the  people,  by  the 
people,  and  for  the  people,  shall  not  perish  from  the  earth. 
19 


20  RECITATIONS   AND    DIALOGUES. 

SHEEIDAN'S   BIDE. 

THOMAS   BUCHANAN   HEAD. 

UP  from  the  South  at  break  of  day, 

Bringing  to  Winchester  fresh  dismay, 

The  affrighted  air  with  a  shudder  bore, 

Like  a  herald  in  haste,  to  the  chieftain's  door, 

The  terrible  grumble  and  rumble  and  roar, 

Telling  the  battle  was  on  once  more, 

And  Sheridan  twenty  miles  away. 

And  wider  still  those  billows  of  war 

Thundered  along  the  horizon's  bar, 

And  louder  yet  into  Winchester  rolled 

The  roar  of  that  red  sea  uncontrolled, 

Making  the  blood  of  the  listener  cold 

As  he  thought  of  the  stake  in  that  fiery  fray, 

With  Sheridan  twenty  miles 


But  there  is  a  road  from  Winchester  town, 

A  good,  broad  highway  leading  down  ; 

And  there  through  the  flash  of  the  morning  light, 

A  steed  as  black  as  the  steeds  of  night, 

Was  seen  to  pass  as  with  eagle  flight  — 

As  if  he  knew  the  terrible  need, 

He  stretched  away  with  the  utmost  speed  ; 

Hills  rose  and  fell  —  but  his  heart  was  gay, 

With  Sheridan  fifteen  miles  away. 

Still  sprung  from  those  swift  hoofs  thundering  south, 
The  dust,  like  the  smoke  from  the  cannon's  mouth, 
Or  the  trail  of  a  comet  sweeping  faster  and  faster, 
Foreboding  to  traitors  the  doom  of  disaster  ; 
The  heart  of  the  steed  and  the  heart  of  the  master 
"Were  beating  like  prisoners  assaulting  their  walls, 
Impatient  to  be  where  the  battle-field  calls  ; 
Every  nerve  of  the  charger  was  strained  to  full  play, 
With  Sheridan  only  ten  miles  away. 


BUT    ONE    PAIR   OF    STOCKINGS    TO    MEND.          21 

Under  his  spurning  feet  the  road 

Like  an  arrowy  Alpine  river  flowed, 

And  the  landscape  sped  away  behind 

Like  an  ocean  flying  before  the  wind  ; 

And  the  steed,  like  a  bark  fed  with  furnace  ire, 

Swept  on  with  his  wild  eyes  full  of  fire ; 

But,  lo  !  he  is  Hearing  his  heart's  desire, 

He  is  snuffing  the  smoke  of  the  roaring  fray, 

With  Sheridan  only  five  miles  away. 

The  first  that  the  General  saw  were  the  groups 

Of  stragglers,  and  then  the  retreating  troops  ; 

What  was  done — what  to  do — a  glance  told  him  both, 

And  striking  his  spurs  with  a  terrible  oath, 

He  dashed  down  the  line  'mid  a  storm  of  huzzahs, 

And  the  wave  of  retreat  checked  its  course  there  because 

The  sight  of  the  master  compelled  it  to  pause. 

With  foam  and  with  dust  the  black  charger  was  gray, 

By  the  flash  of  his  eye,  and  his  nostril's  play 

He  seemed  to  the  whole  great  army  to  say, 

"  I  have  brought  you  Sheridan  all  the  way 

From  Winchester,  down  to  save  the  day !  " 

Hurrah,  hurrah  for  Sheridan ! 
Hurrah,  hurrah  for  horse  and  man  ! 
And  when  their  statues  are  placed  on  high, 
Under  the  dome  of  the  Union  sky. — 
The  American  soldier's  Temple  of  Fame, — 
There  with  the  glorious  General's  name 
Be  it  said  in  letters  both  bold  and  bright : 
"  Here  is  the  steed  that  saved  the  day 
By  carry  ing  Sheridan  into  the  fight, 
From  Winchester — twenty  miles  away  !  " 


THEEE'S  BUT   ONE  PAIE   OF   STOCKINGS  TO 
MEND  TO-NIGHT. 

AN  old  wife  sat  by  her  bright  (ireside, 
Swaying  thoughtfully  to  and  fro 


22  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

In  an  easy  chair,  whose  creaky  craw 

Told  a  tale  of  long  ago  ; 

While  down  by  her  side,  on  the  kitchen  floor, 
Stood  a  basket  of  worsted  balls — a  score. 

The  good  man  dozed  o'er  the  latest  news, 

Till  the  light  in  his  pipe  went  out ; 
And,  unheeded,  the  kitten  with  cunning  paws 

Rolled  and  tangled  the  balls  about ; 
Yet  still  sat  the  wife  in  the  ancient  chair, 
Swaying  to  and  fro  in  the  fire-light  glare. 

But  anon,  a  misty  tear  drop  came 

In  her  eyes  of  faded  blue, 
Then  trickled  down  in  a  furrow  deep 

Like  a  single  drop  of  dew  ; 

So  deep  was  the  channel — so  silent  the  stream — 
That  the  good  man  saw  nought  but  the  dimmer!  eye  beam 

5Tet  marvelled  he  much  that  the  cheerful  light 

Of  her  eye  had  heavy  grown, 
And  marvelled  he  more  at  the  tangled  balls, 

So  he  said  in  a  gentle  tone — 
"  I  have  shared  thy  joys  since  our  marriage  vow, 
Conceal  not  from  me  thy  sorrows  now." 

Then  she  spoke  of  the  time  when  the  basket  there 

Was  filled  to  the  very  brim  ; 
And  now,  there  remained  of  the  goodly  pile 

But  a  single  pair — for  him  ; 
"  Then  wonder  not  at  the  dimmed  eye-light, 
There's  but  one  pair  of  stockings  to  mend  to-night. 

"  I  cannot  but  think  of  the  busy  feet. 

Whose  wrappings  were  wont  to  lay 
In  the  basket,  awaiting  the  needle's  time — 

Now  wandering  so  far  awav ; 


BUT    ONE    PAIR    OF    STOCKINGS    TO    MEND.         23 

How  the  sprightly  steps  to  a  mother  dear, 
Unheeded  fell  on  the  careless  ear. 

"  For  each  empty  nook  in  the  basket  old 

By  the  hearth  there's  a  vacant  seat ; 
And  I  miss  the  shadows  from  off  the  wall, 

And  the  patter  of  many  feet ; 
'Tis  for  this  that  a  tear  gathered  over  my  sight, 
At  the  one  pair  of  stockings  to  mend  to-night. 

"  'Twas  said  that  far  through  the  forest  wild, 

And  over  the  mountains  bold, 
Was  a  land  whose  rivers  and  darkening  caves 

Were  gemmed  with  the  rarest  gold  ; 
Then  ray  first-born  turned  from  the  oaken  door — 
And  I  knew  the  shadows  were  only  four. 

"  Another  went  forth  on  the  foaming  wave, 

And  diminished  the  basket's  store ; 
But  his  feet  grew  cold — so  weary  and  cold — 

They'll  never  be  warm  any  more — 
And  this  nook,  in  its  emptiness,  seemeth  to  me 
To  give  forth  no  voice  but  the  moan  of  the  sea. 

li  Two  others  have  gone  toward  the  setting  sun, 

And  made  them  a  home  in  its  light, 
And  fairy  fingers  have  taken  their  share 

To  mend  by  the  fire-side  bright ; 
Some  other  basket  their  garments  will  fill — 
But  mine,  mine  is  emptier  still. 

Another — :he  dearest,  the  fairest,  the  best — 

Was  taken  by  angels  away, 
And  clad  in  a  garment  that  waxeth  not  old, 

In  a  land  of  continual  day  ; 
Oh !  wonder  no  more  at  the  dimmed  eye- light, 
When  I  mend  the  one  pair  of  stockings  to-night." 


24  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

MODULATION. 


'Tis  not  enough  the  voice  be  sound  and  clear, 
'Tis  modulation  that  must  charm  the  ear. 
When  desperate  heroes  grieve  with  tedious  moan, 
And  whine  their  sorrows  in  a  see-saw  tone, 
The  same  soft  sounds  of  unirnpassioned  woes 
Can  only  make  the  yawning  hearers  doze. 
The  voice  all  modes  of  passion  can  express, 
That  marks  the  proper  word  with  proper  stress  ; 
But  none  emphatic  can  that  speaker  call, 
Who  lays  an  equal  emphasis  on  all. 

Some  o'er  the  tongue  the  labored  measures  roll, 
Slow  and  deliberate  as  the  parting  toll ; 
Point  every  stop,  mark  every  pause  so  strong — 
Their  words  like  stage  processions  stalk  along. 

All  affectation  but  creates  disgust, 
And  e'en  in  speaking,  we  may  seem  too  just ; 
In  vain  for  them  the  pleasing  measure  flows. 
Whose  recitation  runs  it  all  to  prose; 
Repeating  what  the  poet  sets  not  down, 
The  verb  disjointing  from  its  favorite  noun, 
While  pause,  and  break,  and  repetition  join 
To  make  a  discord  in  each  tuneful  line. 

Some  placid  natures  fill  the  allotted  scene 
With  lifeless  drawls,  insipid  and  serene ; 
While  others  thunder  every  couplet  o'er, 
And  almost  crack  your  ears  with  rant  and  roar. 
More  nature  oft,  and  finer  strokes  are  shown 
In  the  low  whisper,  than  tempestuous  tone  ; 
And  Hamlet's  hollow  voice  and  fixed  amaze 
More  powerful  terror  to  the  mind  conveys 
Than  he,  who,  swollen  with  impetuous  rage, 
Bullies  the  bulky  phantom  of  the  stage. 


THE  DRUMMER-BOY'S  BURIAL.  25 

He,  who  in  earnest  studies  o'er  his  part, 

Will  find  true  nature  cling  about  his  heart. 

The  modes  of  grief  are  not  included  all 

In  the  white  handkerchief  and  mournful  drawl ; 

A  single  look  more  marks  the  internal  woe 

Than  all  the  windings  of  the  lengthed  Oh ! 

Up  to  the  face  the  quick  sensation  flies. 

And  darts  its  meaning  from  the  speaking  eyes ; 

Love,  transport,  madness,  anger,  scorn,  despair, 

And  all  the  passions — all  the  soul  is  there. 


THE  DEUMMEE-BOY'S  BUEIAL. 

HAKPEHS'  MAGAZINE. 

ALL  day  long  the  storm  of  battle  through  the  startled  valley  swept ; 
All  night  long  the  stars  in  heaven  o'er  the  slain  sad  vigils  kept. 

Oh  the  ghastly  upturned  faces  gleaming  whitely  through  the  night ! 
Oh  the  heaps  of  mangled  corses  in  that  dim  sepulchral  light ! 

One  by  one  the  pale  stars  faded,  and  at  length  the  morning  broke  ; 
But  not  one  of  all  the  sleepers  on  that  field  of  death  awoke. 

Slowly  passed  the  golden  hours  of  that  long  bright  summer  day, 
And  upon  that  field  of  carnage  still  the  dead  unburied  lay  . 

Lay   there  stark  and  cold,  but  pleading  with  a  dumb,  unceasing 

prayer, 
For  a  little  dust  to  hide  them  from  the  staring  sun  and  air. 

But  the  foeman  held  possession  of  that  hard-won  battle  plain, 
In  unholy  wrath  denying  even  burial  to  our  slain. 

Once  again  the  night  dropped  round  them — night  so  holy  and  so 

calm 
That  the  moonbeams  hushed  the  spirit,  like  the  sound  of  prayer  or 

psalm. 


26  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

On  a  couch  of  trampled  grasses,  just  apart  from  all  the  rest, 
Lay  a   fair  young  boy,  with   small   hands   meekly  folded  on  his 
breast. 

Death  had  touched  him  very  gently,  and  he  lay  as  if  in  sleep  ; 
Even  his  mother  scarce  had  shuddered  at  that  slumber  calm  and 
deep. 

For  a  smile  of  wondrous  sweetness  lent  a  radiance  to  the  face, 
And  the  hand  of  cunning  sculptor  could  have  added  naught  of  grace 

To  the  marble  limbs  so  perfect  in  their  passionless  repose, 
Robbed  of  all  save  matchless  purity  by  hard,  unpitying  foes. 

And  the  broken  drum  beside  him  all  his  life's  short  story  told : 
How  he  did  his  duty  bravely  till  the  death-tide  o'er  him  rolled. 

Midnight  came  with  ebon  garments  and  a  diadem  of  stars, 
While  right  upward  in  the  zenith  hung  the  fiery  planet  Mars. 

Hark  !  a  sound  of  stealthy  footsteps  and  of  voices  whispering  low, 
Was  it  nothing  but  the  young  leaves,  or  the  brooklet's  murmuring 
flow  1 

Clinging  closely  to  each  other,  striving  never  to  look  round 

As  they  passed  with  silent  shudder  the  pale  corses  on  the  ground. 

Came  two  little  maidens, — sisters, — with  a  light  and  hasty  tread, 
And  a  look  upon  their  faces,  half  of  sorrow,  half  of  dread. 

And  they  did  not  pause  nor  falter  till,  with  throbbing  hearts,  they 

stood 
Where  the  Drummer-boy  was  lying  in  that  partial  solitude, 

They  had  brought  some  simple  garments  from  their  wardrobe's 

scanty  store, 
And  two  heavy  iron  shovels  in  their  slender  hands  they  bore. 

Then  they  quickly  knelt  beside  him,  crushing  back  the  pitying 

tears, 
For  they  had  DO  time  for  weeping,  nor  for  any  girlish  fears. 


THE    PILOT.  27 

And  they  robed  the  icy  body,  while  no  glow  of  maiden  shame 
Changed  the  pallor  of  their  foreheads  to  a  flush  of  lambent  flame. 

For  their  saintly  hearts  yearned  o'er  it  in  that  hour  of  sorest  need, 
And  they  felt  that  Death  was  holy,  and  it  sanctified  the  deed. 

But  they  smiled  and  kissed  each  other  when  their  new  strange  task 

was  o'er, 
And  the  form  that  lay  before  them  its  unwonted  garments  wore. 

Then  with  slow  and  weary  labor  a  small  grave  they  hollowed  out, 
And  they  lined  it  with  the  withered  grass  and  leaves  that  lay  about. 

But  the  day  was  slowly  breaking  ere  their  holy  work  was  done, 
And  in  crimson  pomp  the  morning  again  heralded  the  sun. 

And  then  those  little  maidens — they  were  children  of  our  foes — 
Laid  the  body  of  our  Drummer-boy  to  undisturbed  repose. 


THE  PILOT— A  THRILLING  INCIDENT. 

JOHN   B.    GOUGH, 

JOHN  MAYNARD  was  well  known  in  the  lake  district  as  a 
God-fearing,  honest  and  intelligent  pilot.  He  was  pilot  on 
a  steamboat  from  Detroit  to  Buffalo.  One  summer  afternoon 
— at  that  time  those  steamers  seldom  carried  boats — smoke 
was  seen'  ascending  from  below,  and  the  captain  called  out : 

"  Simpson,  go  below,  and  see  what  the  matter  is  down 
there." 

Simpson  came  up  with  his  face  pale  as  ashes  and  said, 

"  Captain,  the  ship  is  on  fire." 

Then  "  Fire  !  fire  !  fire  I  "  on  shipboard. 

All  hands  were  call    !  up*     Buckets  of  water  wore  dashed 


28  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

on  the  fire,  but  in  vain.  There  were  large  quantities  of  rosin 
and  tar  011  board,  and  it  was  found  useless  to  attempt  to  save 
the  ship.  The  passengers  rushed  forward  and  inquired  of 
the  pilot : 

"  How  far  are  we  from  Buffalo  ?  " 

"  Seven  miles." 

"  How  long  before  we  can  reach  there  ?  " 

"  Three-quarters  of  an  hour  at  our  present  rate  of  steam." 

"  Is  there  any  danger  ?  " 

"  Danger !  here — see  the  smoke  bursting  out — go  forward 
if  you  would  save  your  lives." 

Passengers  and  crew — men,  women  and  children — crowded 
the  forward  part  of  the  ship.  John  Maynard  stood  at  the 
helm.  The  flames  burst  forth  in  a  sheet  of  fire  ;  clouds  of 
smoke  arose.  The  captain  cried  out  through  his  trumpet : 

"  John  Maynard !  " 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir  ! " 

"  Are  you  at  the  helm  ?  " 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir  !  " 

"  How  does  she  head  ?  " 

"  Southeast  by  east,  sir." 

"  Head  her  southeast  and  run  her  on  shore,"  said  the 
captain. 

Nearer,  nearer,  yet  nearer,  she  approached  the  shore. 

Again  the  captain  cried  out : 

"  John  Maynard  ! " 

The  response  came  feebly  this  time,  "  Aye,  aye,  sir  !  " 

"  Can  you  hold  on  five  minutes  longer,  John  ?  "  he  said. 

"  By  God's  help,  I  will." 

The  old  man's  hair  was  scorched  from  the  scalp,  one  hand 
disabled,  his  knee  upon  the  stanchion,  and  his  teeth  set,  with 
his  other  hand  upon  the  wheel,  he  stood  firm  as  a  rock.  He 
beached  the  ship  ;  every  man,  woman,  and  child  was  saved, 
as  John  Maynard  dropped,  and  his  spirit  took  its  flight  to  its 
God. 


THE  SOLDIER'S  RETURN.  29 


THE  SOLDIEE'S  EETUEN. 

A  COLLOQUY-IN  TWO  SCENES. 

F.    B.   WILSON. 


MR.  HANSFORD,  JAY  PERSINGS, 

MRS.  HANSFORD,  RALPH  FIELDING, 

ROSA  BEAUMOND,  SOLDIER, 

CAPTAIN  HANSFORD,  FAIRIES  (three). 

COSTUME.  —  MR.  and^lns.  HANSFORD  —  •plainly  dressed.  CAPTAIN 
HANSFORD  —  uniform.  RALPH  FIELDING  —  carelessly  dressed,  disorder- 
ed hair.  FAIRIES  —  dresses  of  light  gauze,  different  colors. 

DIRECTIONS.  —  R.  means  Eight  of  Stage  facing  the  audience  ;  L.  Left  ; 
C.  Centre  ;  M  C.  Left  of  Centre  ;  It.  C.  Right  of  Centre* 

SCENE  I  —  Interior  of  a  Kitchen  in  a  New  England  Home  —  MR.  and 
MRS.  HAXSFORD  seated  near  each  other  ;  lie  with  paper  she  with 
knitting. 

MRS.  HANFORD.  Do  you  know,  husband,  that  it  is  just 
three  years  ago  to-day  that  our  son,  our  dear  boy,  bade  us 
"  good-bye."  'Tis  just  three  years  since  he  marched  with 
many  other  patriot  boys,  to  battle  for  freedom.  Oh  !  how 
firm  he  looked  as  he  stood  forth  in  his  suit  of  blue  ;  how 
hopeful  he  seemed  to  be  !  "I  will  came  back,  mother,"  he 
said,  "crowned  with  glory,  in  three  years  from  to-day." 
Those  words  I  can  never  forget;  but  where  is  our  boy 
to-night  ? 

MR.  H.  'Tis  strange,  wife,  that  our  minds  should  wander 
to  the  same  subject  ;  though  I  sit  with  paper  in  hand,  glanc- 
ing over  its  columns,  my  thoughts  were  far  away.  I  thought 
of  him,  as  he  heroically  charged  against  the  enemy,  as  wound- 

*  As  nearly  every  school  has  some  sort  of  a  stage  and  curtain,  any  directions 
on  this  subject  would  be  superfluous.  The  stage  should  be  deep  enough  to 
admit  of  a  second  curtain.  This  curtain  should  not  extend  over  more  than 
two-thirds  of  the  stage.  A  gauze  curtain  behind  the  dark  one  will  add  to 
the  eftect. 


30  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

ed  he  lay  on  the  field  of  battle.  His  letters  assure  us  that 
he  is  not  a  stranger  to  such  scenes  as  these.  But  a  year  has 
elapsed  since  we  have  heard  from  him.  His  name  has  not 
appeared  in  the  list  of  wounded  or  killed.  I  still  hope  that 
he  may  be  alive.  I  would  not  think  otherwise. 

MBS.  H.  Perhaps  he  now  lives  in  some  dismal  prison 
cell.  A  worse  fate  than  this  may  have  befallen  him.  Sick- 
ness, brought  on  by  being  forced  to  sleep  in  damp  rebel 
prisons,  and  want  of  food,  may  have  caused  his  death. 

MB.  H.  I  feel  positive  that  he  is  not  now  in  the  ranks  of 
the  army.  One  of  your  conjectures  must  be  true.  But 
God  grant  that  he  may  yet  live,  and  return  to  us. 

MBS.  H.  This  is  war's  harsh  blow.  Each  bullet,  each 
blade,  that  pierces  a  heart  on  a  battle-field,  pierces  double 
the  number  at  home.  Many  a  home  has  a  "  vacan^  chair  " 
in  it  to-night.  But  the  struggle  is  for  liberty.  Our  son  has 
fought  and  bled,  perhaps  died  for  his  country.  The  thought 
is  a  fearful  one  ;  but  God  still  lives. 

MB.  H.  Let  that  thought  still  cheer  us :  "  God  still 
lives."  May  he  grant  victory  to  the  cause  of  Union,  free- 
dom to  the  bond-man,  and  peace  and  consolation  to  every 
broken  heart.  Wife,  let  us  spare  our  fears,  let  us  be 
hopeful. 

Silence  for  a  few  moments  ;  a  knock  is  heard  at  door. 

MB.  H.  Come  !     (Enter  soldier,  wounded.} 

SOLDIEB.  (B.)  I  am  hungry  and  weary  with  my  long 
journey.  I  am  without  money;  taken  very  sick  on  my 
way,  I  was  forced  to  spend  all  I  had  during  my  sickness.  I 
am  loath  to  beg,  but  am  driven  to  it. 

MBS.  H.  We  know  how  to  feel  for  you ;  we  gladly  will 
do  all  in  our  power  to  aid  you.  Sit  down  and  rest  yourself, 
while  I  prepare  some  food  for  you.  (Mrs.  H.  prepares  food  on 
table,  L.  C.) 

MB.  H.  In  what  division  of  the  army  were  you  placed  ? 

SOLDIEB.  The  Potomac  army.  I  have  been  with  Gen. 
McClellan  during  the  whole  campaign.  At  the  battle  of 


THE  SOLDIER'S  RETURN.  31 

Gettysburg  I  received  this  severe  wound  in  my  arm,  which 
prevented  me  from  joining  my  company  again. 

Mil.  H.  I  had  a  son  in  the  Potomac  army ;  in  the  Con- 
necticut infantry.      He  enlisted  three  years  ago  ;    was  cap- 
tain when  last  we  heard  from  him.     Several  letters  did  \vti  I 
receive  from  him  during  the  battles  before  Richmond;  but  • 
since   then   not  one   word  has  reached  us    concerning  his 
welfare. 

SOLDIER.  My  regiment  was  quartered  for  some  time  near 
some  troops  from  Connecticut.  I  was  quite  intimate  with  a 
captain,  by  name,  Hansford ;  yet  I  do  not  know  the  number 
of  his  regiment. 

MB.  H.  It  must  have  been  my  son.  Do  you  know  where 
he  now  is  ?  When  did  you  see  him  last  ? 

SOLDIER.^  I  saw  him  last  just  before  those  terrific  battles 
that  will  ever  be  remembered  in  history.  So  fearful  had 
been  the  conflict,  so  hasty  our  departure,  that  we  thought 
of  little  besides  ourselves  and  home.  If  he  had  fallen  on 
the  field  you  would  certainly  have  been  informed. 

MRS.  H.  Come,  your  meal  is  ready.  (SOLDIER  lakes  seat.) 
Would  that  my  boy  were  seated  at  your  side. 

SOLDEIR.  It  may  be  in  my  power  to  learn  something  def- 
inite concerning  your  son.  I  know  of  his  great  worth. 
Many  a  deed  of  kindness  has  he  performed  for  me.  Little 
did  I  ever  think  that  I  should  meet  his  parents.  But  I 
pledge  you  a  soldier's  word,  that  I  will  endeavor  to  learn 
where  he  may  now  be,  and  will  write  you  all  I  may  hear 
concerning  him.  (rises  to  go.) 

MR.  H.  (whispers  something  to  wife,  L.)  I  am  not  rich,  I  am 
obliged  to  work  that  I  may  comfortably  live ;  yet  I  can 
spare  you  money  so  that  you  need  walk  no  more.  Here, 
take  this,  (hands  him  purse]  and  may  God  bless  thee. 

SOLDIER.  I  will  return  this  money.  You  truly  are  a  sol- 
dier's friend,  and  God  will  reward  you  for  this  noble  act. 

(Exits,  leaves  his  bundle  R. 

MR.  H.  I  will  now  go  to  the  office,  tidings  may  reach  us 
from  him.  (MR.  H.  passes  out  one  door  R.,  she  another  L.) 


32  RECITATIONS   AND   DIALOGUES. 

Enter  JAY  PERSINGS  and  RALPH  FIELDING,  R. 

PERSINGS.  The  old  man  has  just  gone  to  the  office,  I  met 
him  on  my  way  here.  Wonder  where  the  old  woman  is  ? 
I  would  really  like  to  see  how  they  will  take  the  news  con- 
tained in  that  letter,  (laughs,  SOLDIER  re-enters,  walks  toward 
bundle,  stops.) 

FIELDING.  You  have  forced  me  to  do  a  dreadful  thing, 
Jay.  I  am  guilty  of  a  most  shameful  deed. 

PERSINGS.  Why  man,  how  you  talk !  Nothing  wrong 
about  it.  I  know  his  son  must  be  dead  ere  this  ;  when  he 
reads  that  letter  his  fears  will  be  confirmed.  There  will  be 
a  short  season  of  mourning,  and  soon  all  excitement  will 
pass  away. 

FIELDING.  Supposing  his  son  be  not  dead  ?  What  if  he 
should  return  ? 

PERSINGS.  All  the  better,  providing  I  marry  R-osa  Beau- 
mond  ere  his  return. 

FIELDING.  But  will  she  marry  you  ?     Some  girls  never 

forget  an  absent  lover.     Their  lives  are  so 

PERSINGS.  Well,  I  declare ;  if  I  ever  thought  of  hearing 
you  say  anything  so  foolish.  Girls  never  marry  because  one 
lover  dies.  Pooh  !  pooh  !  I  tell  you,  Ealph,  as  soon  as  one 
lover  is  lost  to  them,  they  put  forth  every  exertion  to  get 
another.  You  look  excited  this  morning.  Here,  take  a 
drink,  (produces  flask.) 

FIELDING,  (turns  partly  around,  raises  fla.sk  to  his  lips.)  This 
room  makes  me  think  of  my  own  home.  How  very  like  it, 
oh,  how  happy  was  I  there  !  What  pleasant  dreams  I  had, 
as  I  lay  on  my  pillow  under  the  little  cottage-roof.  But 
now  ugly  dreams  haunt  me ;  last  night  snakes  seemed  to  be 
twining  around  my  body,  and  crawling  about  my  arms  ;  I 
tore  my  hair,  I  cried,  (observes  SOLDIER,  who  lias  advanced  near 
/dm.)  Who,  sir,  are  you  \ 

SOLDIER.  A  weary  worn-out  soldier.  I  stopped  here  a 
few  moments  ago,  and  was  kindly  treated  by  the  good  peo- 
ple here.  I  had  forgotten  my  bundle  and  have  just  returned 
for  it. 


THE  SOLDIER'S  RETURN.  33 

PERSIXGS.  Take  it  and  leave  immediately. 

SOLDIER,  (yoing  E.)  I  know  the  designs  of  these  wicked 
men.  The  cars  are  about  to  leave,  (hell  rings).  I  hear  the 
bell,  I  shall  write  to  my  benefactor,  and  tell  him  all,  as  soon 
as  I  reach  home.  ^  (Exit. 

FIELDING.  Come,  Ralph,  let  us  be  on  our  way  ;  'tis  nearly 
time  for  the  old  man  to  return  (Exeunt  R. 

Enter  MRS.  H.  and  ROSA  BEAUMOND,  L 

MRS.  H.  A  soldier  called  a  few  moments  since,  Rosa,  who 
had  known  Theodore.  He  spoke  very  highly  of  him,  and 
told  me  he  would  try  and  learn  where  he  may  now  be. 

ROSA.  Would  that  I  could  have  seen  him.  What  anxiety 
is  mine.  But  let  us  "  lay  all  our  cares  on  God ;  that 
anchor  holds." 

Enter  MR.  H.,  letter  in  hand,  sad. 

MRS.  H.  and  ROSA.  What,  have  you  heard 

MR.  H.  (in  a  broken  voice.)  This  letter  is  from  an  officer  in 
Theodore's  regiment ;  and  informs  me  that  he  is  dead — 
died  in  a  rebel  prison.  (ROSA  utters  a  scream,  is  supported  to 
arm-chair  c.,  MR.  and  MRS.  H.  sink  down  overpowered.} 

Curtain  at  back  of  stages  rises,  three  FAIRIES  appear  with  wands. 
FIRST  FAIRY.  The  blow  is  a  severe  one,  dear,  good  and 
honest  people.    But  it  is  to  test  your  love  for  him  you  mourn. 
He  is  not  dead,  you  shall  see  him  again,  "  God  still  lives  ; " 
trust  in  him. 

(All  speak,)      May  slumbers  sweet  surround  you, 
May  your  hopes  in  God  remain ; 
May  Jesus  look  in  mercy, 

And  calm  your  troubled  brain. 

Gauze  falls   in  front   of  FAIRIES — Music    heard    without-~Curtain 
slowly  falls. 

FAIRIES. 

ROSA 

MR.  H.  MRS.  H. 

CURTAIN. 


34  RECITATIONS   AND    DIALOGUES. 

SCENE  11. — Same  as  Scene  I. — MRS.  H.  seated  alone,  knitting,  looks 
up  from  her  work. 

MRS.  H.  As  I  sit. knitting  to-night,  I  cannot  but  think 

of  the  poem : 

» 
"  There's  but  one  pair  of  stockings  to  mend  to-night." 

How  true  of  my  own  little  family.  One  died  in  infancy. 
Another  was  drowned  while  endeavoring  to  save  the  life  of 
«,  poor  widow's  child.  The  youngest,  yes,  the  dearest  and 
best,  died  for  his  country ;  manfully  did  he  go  forth  ae 
soon  as  war's  hot  breath  o'erspread  the  land.  What  suffer- 
ings he  has  undergone  since  then  !  He  loved  his  home,  he 
loved  Hosa  Beaumond,  but  he  loved  his  country  letter  than 
all.  What  a  blank  is  now  in  our  little  home.  May  God's 
mercy  rest  with  every  vacant  fireside.  May  his  presence 
cheer  many  a  sad  household  to-night. 

Enter  ROSA.  R. 

ROSA.  I  have  much  to  tell  you,  dear  Mrs.  Hansford.  This 
day  has  been  an  exciting  one  to  me. 

MR.  H.  Sit  down,  Rosa,  tell  me  all,  you  look  weary  and 
worn  out. 

ROSA.  For  sometime  Jay  Persings  has  been  very  attentive 
to  me.  He  told  me  that  he  felt  badly  to  see  me  dressed  in 
mourning ;  sympathized  with  me,  pitied  me  ;  and  to-day  he 
wrote  me,  asking  my  hand  in  marriage,  urging  me  to  fix 
upon  an  early  day  for  our  wedding. 

MRS.  H.  And  your  answer,  Rosa  ? 

ROSA.  I  answered  him  "  No."      His  offer  I  spurn. 

MRS.  H.  But  Rosa,  if  he  loves  you,  it  might 

ROSA,  (c.)  I  know  Jay  Persings.  I  have  seen  him  in  the 
street,  drunken.  He  is  without  character.  Then  his  offer, 
so  soon  after  the  death  of  one  I  most  devotedly  loved,  leads 
me  to  spurn  him  more  than  for  any  other  act.  But  were  he 
perfection,  I  should  reject  his  offer. 


THE  SOLDIER'S  RETURN.  35 

MRS.  H.  You  are  doubtless  right,  Eosa,  though  you  sur- 
prise me,  as  I  did  not  think  him  guilty  of  so  great  a  vice. 

EOSA.  I  had  a  dream  the  evening  Mr.  Hansford  brought 
us  the  terrible  news,  but  I  feared  to  tell  it  you.  It  was  so 
sweet  a  dream,  so  pleasant,  so  cheering,  so  impossible,  that 
I  did  not  tell  you.  (MRS.  H.  appears  interested.}  But  last 
night  I  had  the  same  dream,  saw  the  same  vision.  A  group 
of  fairies,  three  in  number,  appeared  to  me.  I  do  not  remem- 
ber all  they  said,  but  they  told  me  I  should  yet  see  him 
whom  I  loved.  'Tis  foolish  to  believe  in  dreams,  but  what* 
can  this  mean  ? 

MRS.  H.  The  same  vision  of  which  you  speak,  saw  I  on 
that  evening.  But  he  is  dead.  We  can  never  meet  him 
again  on  this  earth.  Those  fairy  angels  have  told  us  we 
shall  meet  him  again,  but  it  shall  be  in  heaven.  Come, 
with  ine,  Eosa,  you  are  weary.  (Exeunt. 

Enter  RALPH  FIELDING  R.,  looks  wildly  around. 

FIELDING.  What  a  wretched  night  I  have  passed  since  I 
wrote  that  dreadful  letter. 

Enter,  unperceived,  SOLDIER  R.,  citizen's  dress. 

Eum  has  not  power  to  make  me  hide  that  sin.  Jay 
made  me  drunk  before  I  wrote  it.  He  promised  me  money, 
and  as  yet  has  not  given  it  me.  I  have  come  here  now  for 
the  purpose  of  acknowledging  my  whole  crime.  Glad  am  I 
that  the  girl  has  not  married  Jay  Persings.  This  that  I 
shall  tell  her  will  at  least  save  her  from  being  a  drunkard's 
wife.  Would  to  God  that  her  lover  still  lives,  (turns  around 
and  observes  SOLDIER.)  What  are — you — 

SOLDIER.  I  am  he  who,  as  a  worn-out  soldier  met  you 
and  one  you  called  Jay,  a  few  weeks  ago.  I  heard  your 
conversation  then,  I  heard  your  reverie  now.  I  know  all. 
You  are  about  to  act  the  part  of  a  man.  Let  this  day  be 
*  one  you  will  long  remember.  Ecform  now.  Capt.  Hans- 
ford  still  lives,  and  is  now  011  his  way  home  ;  for  some  timo 


36  KECITATIONS   AND    DIALOGUES. 

lie  has  been  confined  in  a  rebel  prison — was  lately  released, 
and  may  reach  home  to-day.  I  have  learned  this  since  I 
was  here  ;  and  I  have  come  to  tell  the  family,  and  to  inform 
them  of  Persings'  infamous  plot. 

Enter  MR.  and  MRS.  II.,  and~Ro&A. 

SOLDIER.  Do  not  let  our  presence  surprise  you,  listen  to 
what  this  man  has  got  to  say. 

FIELDING.  I  was  implicated  in  a  plot,  gotten  up  by  Jay 
*Persings.  That  was  a  forged  letter.  Your  son,  madam, 
your  lover,  madam,  is  not  dead,  (surprize  manifested.)  Jay 
made  me  drunk  before  I  forged  that  letter.  I  have  repented. 
I  come  to  ask  your  forgiveness. 

MR.  H.  Our  joy  is  too  great  for  us  to  harbor  an  unkind 
thought  toward  any.  But  who  are  you  ? 

SOLDIER.  Do  you  remember  feeding  a  wounded  soldier 
a  few  weeks  since,  and  giving  him  money  to  proceed  on  his 
journey  ?  I  am  that  one.  I  am  come  to  tell  you  that  your 
son  still  lives.  He  is  on  his  way  home.  Possibly  he  may  be 

here 

Door  opens,  enter  CAPT.  HANSFORD,  R. 

CAPT.  H.  Mother !  Father !  and  dear  Rosa,  is  it  really 
you? 

MR.  H.  Let  us  leave  them  alone* 

Exeunt,  music,  ROSA  stands  with  both  hands  resting  in  CAPT.  H.'s.,  L.  c., 
curtain  falls  at  back  of  stage,  FAIRIES  appear. 

FIRST  FAIRY.  May  the  anxiety  which  you  have  felt  be  of 
good  to  you.  God  ruleth  !  It  is  he  that  has  restored  your 
lover  to  you.  Praise  Him  ! 

(All  speak.)  May  your  lives  be  long  and  happy, 

May  your  sorrows  be  but  few  ; 
May  Jesus  be  your  constant  friend, 
And  ever  may  you  be  true. 

Gauze  falls  in  front  of  FAIRIES,  music  heard  wittout — Curtain  slowly 


BURIAL  OF  THE  CHAMPION  OF  HIS  CLASS.          37 


BUBIAL  OF    THE  CHAMPION  OF    HIS   CLASS, 
AT  YALE  COLLEGE. 

N.  P.  WILLIS. 

YE'VE  gathered  to  your  place  of  prayer 

With  slow  and  measured  tread  : 
Your  ranks  are  full,  your  mates  all  there — 

But  the  soul  of  one  has  fled. 
He  was  the  proudest  in  his  strength, 

The  manliest  of  ye  all ; 
Why  lies  he  at  that  length^ 

And  ye  around  his  pall  ? 

Ye  reckon  it  in  days,  since  he 

Strode  up  that  foot-worn  aisle, 
With  his  dark  eye  flashing  gloriously, 

And  his  lip  wreathed  with  a  smile. 
0,  had  it  been  but  told  yon,  then, 

To  mark  whose  lamp  was  dim — 
From  out  yon  rank  of  fresh-lipp'd  men, 

Would  ye  have  singled  him  ? 

Whose  was  the  sinewy  arm,  that  flung 

Defiance  to  the  ring  1 
Whose  laugh  of  victory  loudest  rung — 

Yet  not  for  glorying  1 
Whose  heart  in  generous  deed  and  thought, 

No  rivalry  might  brook, 
And  yet  distinction  claiming  not  1 

There  lies  he — go  and  look  ! 

On  now — his  requiem  is  done, 

His  last  deep  prayer  is  said — 
On  to  his  burial,  comrades — on, 

With  a  friend  and  brother  dead  1 
Slow — for  it  presses  heavily — 

It  is  a  man  ye  bear ! 


38  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

Slow,  for  our  thoughts  dwell  wearily 
On  the  gallant  sleeper  there. 

Tread  lightly,  comrades ! — we  have  laid 

His  dark  locks  on  his  brow — 
Like  life — save  deeper  light  and  shade : 

We'll  not  disturb  them  now. 
Tread  lightly — for  'tis  beautiful, 

That  blue-vein'd  eyelid's  sleep, 
Hiding  the  eye  death  left  so  dull — 

Its  slumber  we  will  keep. 

Rest  now !  his  journeying  is  done — 

Your  feet  are  on  his  sod — 
Death's  blow  has  fell'd  jrour  champion — 

He  waiteth  here  his  God. 
Ay — turn  and  weep — 'tis  manliness 

To  be  heart-broken  here— 
For  the  grave  of  one  the  best  of  us 

Is  water'd  by  the  tear. 


SCOTT  AND  THE  YETEEAN. 

BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

AN  old  and  crippled  veteran  to  the  War  Department  came, 
He  sought  the  Chief  who  led  him  on  many  a  field  of  fame — 
The  Chief  who  shouted  "  Forward  !  "  where'er  his  banner  rose, 
And  bore  its  stars  in  triumph  behind  the  flying  foes. 

"  Have  you  forgotten,  General,"  the  battered  soldier  cried, 
"  The  days  of  eighteen  hundred  twelve,  when  I  was  at  your  side  1 
Have  you  forgotten  Johnson,  who  fought  at  Lundy's  Lane  1 
'Tis  true,  I'm  old  and  pensioned,  but  I  want  to  fight  again." 

"  Have  I  forgotten  7  "  said  the  Chief:  "  My  brave  old  soldier,  no ! 

And  here's  the  hand  I  gave  you  then,  and  let  it  tell  you  so ; 

But  you  have  done  your  share,  my  friend ;    you're  crippled,  old; 

and  gray, 
And  we  have  need  of  rounder  arms  and  fresher  blood  to-dav." 


SCOTT    AND    THE    VETERAN.  '    39 

"  But,  General,"  cried  the  veteran,  a  flush  upon  his  brow, 

"  The  very  men  who  fought  with  us,  they  say  are  traitors  now : 

They've  torn  the   flag   of  Lundy's    Lane,  our   old   red,  white  and 

blue, 
And  while  a  drop  of  blood  is  left,  I'll  show  that  drop  is  true. 

"  I'm  not  so  weak  but  I  can  strike,  and  I've  a  good  old  gun, 
To  get  the  range  of  traitors'  hearts,  and  prick  them,  one  by  one. 
Your  Minie  rifles  and  such  arms,  it  ain't  worth  while  to  try  ; 
I  couldn't  get  the  hang  o'  them,  but  I'll  keep  my  powder  dry  !  " 

"  God  bless  you,  comrade  !  "  said  the  Chief, — "  God  bless  your  loyal 

heart ! 

But  younger  men  are  in  the  iield,  and  claim  to  have  a  part; 
They'll  plant  our  sacred  banner  firm,  in  each  rebellious  town, 
And  woe,  henceforth,  to  any  hand  that  dares  to  pull  it  down  !  " 

"  But.  General !  " — still  persisting,  the  weeping  veteran  cried, 
"  I'm   young  enough  to  follow,  so  long  as  you're  my  guide ; 
And  some  you  know  must  bite  the  dust,  and  that,  at  least,  can  I  j 
So,  give  the  young  ones  pla.ce  to  fight,  but  me  a  place  to  die ! 

"  If  they  should  fire  on  Pickens.  let  the  colonel  in  command 
Put  me  upon  the  rampart  with  the  flag-staff  in  my  hand  : 
No  odds  how  hot  the  cannon-smoke,  or  how  the  shell  may  fly, 
I'll  hold  the  Stars  and  Stripes  aloft,  and  hold  them  till  I  die ! 

"  I'm  ready,  General ;  so  you  let  a  post  to  me  be  given 
Where  Washington  can  look  at  me,  as  he  looks  down  from  heaven. 
And  say  to  Putnam  at  his  side,  or,  may  be,  General  Wayne  — 
'  There  stands  old  Billy  Johnson,  who  fought  at  Lundy's  Lane  ! ' 

"  And  when  the  fight  is  raging  hot,  before  the  traitors  fly — 
When  shell  and  ball  are  screeching,  and  bursting  in  the  sky, 
If  any  shot  should  pierce  through  me.  and  lay  me  on  my  face, 
My  soul  would  go  to  Washington's  and  not  to  Arnold's  place !  " 


40  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 


BAEBAEA   FEIETCHIE. 

JOHJ?  G. 

UP  from  the  meadows  rich  with  corn, 
Clear  in  the  cool  September  morn, 

The  eluster'd  spires  of  Frederick  stand, 
Green- wall'd  by  the  hills  of  Maryland. 

Round  about  them  orchards  sweep, 
Apple  and  peach  tree  fruited  deep, 

Fair  as  a  garden  of  the  Lord, 

to  the  eyes  of  that  famish'd  rebel  horde, 

On  that  pleasant  morn  of  the  early  Fall, 
When  Lee  march'd  over  the  mountain  wall, 

Over  the  mountains  winding  down, 
Horse  and  foot,  into  Frederick  town 

Forty  flags  with  their  silver  stars, 
Forty  flags  with  their  crimson  bars, 

Flapp'd  in  the  morning  wind :  the  sun 
Of  noon  look'd  down,  and  saw  not  one. 

Up  rose  old  Barbara  Frietchie  then, 
Bow'd  with  her  fourscore  years  and  ten  ; 

Bravest  of  all  in  Frederick  town, 

She  took  up  the  flag  the  men  haul'd  down. 

In  her  attic  window  the  staif  she  set, 
To  show  that  one  heart  was  loyal  yet. 

Up  the  street  came  the  rebel  tread, 
Stonewall  Jackson  riding  ahead. 

Under  his  slouch'd  hat  left  and  right 
He  glanced  ^  the  old  flag  met  his  sight. 


BARBARA    FRIETCHIE.  41 

"  Halt !  " — the  dust-brown  ranks  stood  fast ; 
"  Fire  !  " — out  blazed  the  rifle-blast. 

It  shiver'd  the  window-pane  and  sash, 
It  rent  the  banner  with  seam  and  gash. 

Quick,  as  it  fell  from  the  broken  staff, 
Dame  Barbara  snatch'd  the  silken  scarf. 

She  lean'd  far  out  on  the  window-sill, 
And  shook  it  forth  with  a  royal  will. 

"  Shoot,  if  you  must,  this  old  gray  head, 
But  spare  your  country's  flag,"  she  said. 

A  shade  of  sadness,  a  blush  of  shame, 
Over  the  face  of  the  leader  came  ; 

The  nobler  nature  within  him  stirr'd 
To  life  at  that  woman's  deed  and  word. 

"  Who  touches  a  hair  of  yon  gray  head 
Dies  like  a  dog  !  March  on  !"  he  said. 

All  day  long  through  Frederick  street 
Sounded  the  tread  of  marching  feet ; 

All  day  long  that  free  flag  toss'd 
Over  the  heads  of  the  rebel  host. 

Ever  its  torn  folds  rose  and  fell 

On  the  loyal  winds  that  loved  it  well ; 

And  through  the  hill-gaps,  sunset  light 
Shone  over  it  with  a  warm  good-night. 

Barbara  Frietchie's  work  is  o'er, 

And  the  rebel  rides  on  his  raids  no  more. 

Honor  to  her !  and  let  a  tear 

Fall,  for  her  sake,  on  Slonewall's  bier. 


42  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

Over  Barbara  Frietchie's  grave, 
Flag  of  Freedom  and  Union,  wave  ! 

Peace  and  order  and  beauty  draw 
Round  thy  symbol  of  light  and  law  ; 

And  ever  the  stars  above  look  down 
On  thv  stars  below  in  Frederick  town. 


"I  WOULDN'T— WOULD  YOU." 

ANONYMOUS. 

WHEN  a  lady  is  seen  at  a  party  or  ball, — 
Her  eyes  vainly  ttirn'd  in  her  fits  of  conceit, 

As  she  peers  at  the  gentlemen,  fancying  all 

Are  enchained  by  her  charms  and  would  kneel  at  her  feet, 

With  each  partner  coquetting, — to  nobody  true  ; — 

I  wouldn't  give  much  for  her  chances :  would  you  7 

When  an  upstart  is  seen  on  the  flags  strutting  out, 
With  his  hat  cock'd  aslant,  and  a  glass  in  his  eye  ; 

And  thick  clouds  of  foul  smoke  he  stands  puffing  about, 
As  he  inwardly  says,  "  what  a  noble  am  I," — 

While  he  twists  his  moustache  for  the  ladies  to  view  ; 

I  wouldn't  give  much  for  his  senses  : — would  you  ? — 

When  a  wife  runs  about  at  her  neighbors  to  pry, 
Leaving  children  at  home,  unprotected  to  play  ; 

Till  she  starts  back  in  haste  at  the  sound  of  their  cry, 
And  finds  they've  been  fighting  while  mother's  away, 

Sugar  eaten — panes  broken — the  wind  blowing  through ; 

I  wouldn't  give  much  for  her  comfort  : — would  you  1 

When  a  husband  is  idle,  neglecting  his  work, 

In  the  public-house  snarling  with  quarrelsome  knaves  ; 

When  he  gambles  with  simpletons,  drinks  like  a  Turk, 
While  his  good  wife  at  home  for  his  poor  children  slaves ; 

And  that  home  is  quite  destitute — painful  to  view  ; 

I  wouldn't  give  much  for  his  morals  : — would  you  ? 


"i  WOULDN'T — WOULD  YOU?"  43 

When  a  boy  at  his  school,  lounging  over  his  seat, 
Sits  rubbing  his  head,  and  neglecting  his  book, 

While  he  fumbles  his  pockets  for  something  to  eat, 
Yet  pretendeth  to  read  when  his  master  may  look, 

Though  he  boasts  to  his  parents  how  much  he  can  do ; 

I  wouldn't  give  much  for  his  progress  : — would  you  1 

When  a  man  who  is  driving  a  horse  on  the  road, 

Reins  and  whips  the  poor  brute  with  unmerciful  hand, 

Whilst  it  willingly  strives  to  haste  on  with  its  load, 
Till  with  suff 'ring  and  working  it  scarcely  can  stand  ; 

Though  he  may  be  a  man — and  a  wealthy  one  too  ; 

I  wouldn't  give  much  for  his  feeling  :• — would  you  1 

When  a  master  who  lives  by  his  laborers'  skill, 

Hoards  his  gold  up  in  thousands,  still  craving  for  more, 

Though  poor  are  his  toilers  he  grindeth  them  still, 
Or  unfeelingly  turns  them  away  from  his  door  ; 

Though  he  banketh  his  millions  with  claims  not  a  few  ; 

I  wouldn't  give  much  for  his  conscience: — would  you  1 

When  a  tradesman  his  neighbor's  fair  terms  will  decry, 
And  keeps  puffing  his  goods  at  a  wonderful  rate  ; — 

E'en  at  prices  at  which  no  fair  trader  can  buy ; — 
Though  customers  flock  to  him  early  and  late  ; 

When  a  few  months  have  fled  and  large  bills  become  due, 

I  wouldn't  give  much  for  his  credit : — would  you  7 

When  in  murderous  deeds  a  man's  hands  are  imbrued. 

Tho'  revenge  is  his  plea,  and  the  crime  is  conceal'd, 
The  severe  stings  of  conscience  will  quickly  intrude, 

And  the  mind,  self-accusing,  can  never  be  heal'd  ; — 
When  the  strong  arm  of  justice  sets  out  to  pursue, 
I  wouldn't  give  much  for  his  freedom : — would  you  ? 

When  a  husband  and  wife  keep  their  secrets  apart, 
Not  a  word  to  my  spouse  about  this,  or  on  that ; 

When  a  trifle  may  banish  the  pledge  of  their  heart. 
And  he  naggles — she  snaggles; — both  contradict  flat; 


44  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

Tho'  unequall'd  their  love  when  its  first  blossoms  blew  ; 
I  wouldn't  give  much  for  their  quiet : — would  you  ? 

When  a  man  who  has  lived  here  for  none  but  himself. 
Feels  laid  on  his  strong  frame  the  cold  hand  of  death, 

When  all  fade  away, — wife,  home,  pleasures,  and  pelf, 
And  he  yields  back  to  God  both  his  soul  and  his  breath : 

As  up  to  the  judgment  that  naked  soul  flew, 

I  wouldn't  give  much  for  his  Heaven  ! — would  you  1 


THE  PBOFESSOB  PUZZLED. 

F.  B.  WILSON. 

PROFESSOR.  PUPIL. 

SCENE. — The  Professors  Study.  Professor  seated  by  table  examining 
some  manuscripts.  {Enter  Pupil,  smoking.') 

PUPIL.  Good  evening,  Professor.  (Throws  himself  into  a 
chair.'] 

PROF.  Good  evening,  sir.  As  this  is  the  last  lesson  of 
your  course,  I  wish  to  call  your  attention  to  the  different 
topics  that  we  have  taken  up  in  your  previous  lessons.  I  must 
say,  Mr.  S.,  that  your  success  has  not  been  as  great  as  it  might 
have  been.  You  have  been  in  too  great  a  hurry.  You  wish- 
ed to  be  drilled  on  the  "  Raven  "  and  Shakspeare  before  you 
fully  understood  the  tones  of  voice.  Emphasis  and  slide,  the 
great  beauty  of  good  reading,  have  been  almost  wholly  over- 
looked by  you,  notwithstanding  my  repeated  cautions.  It" 
is  not  my  intention  to  criticize  your  performance  this  eve- 
ning. I  shall  take  up  all  the  essential  elements  that  con- 
stitute an  orator,  and  I  am  confident  that  from  the  drill  you 
have  had,  you  ought  to  be  able  to  give  them  correctly.  I 
therefore  consider  this  lesson  a  sort  of  an  examination.  You 
may  place  yourself  where  the  audience  can  see  you,  and  take 
first  position,  sitting.  (Pupil  takes  position.) 

PUPIL.  Shall  I  now  give  a  personation  of  a  band  of  min- 
strels opening  an  entertainment  ? 


THE    PROFESSOR    PUZZLED.  45 

PROF.  You  may,  and  then  be  done  with  burlesque. 

PUPIL.  (Picking  up  programme  from  floor.]  -Colored  folks, 
seem'  you've  'sembled  yourself  this  evening  fer  the  purpose 
of  entertaining  de  white  population,  de  fus'  thing  dat  strikes 
my  optical  observation  on  dis  evening's  programme  am  de 
overture,  so  throw  yourself  away,  (throws  himself.  ) 

PROF.  Let  us  now  leave  the  minstrels  to  finish  their  own 
performance,  and  go  on  with  ours.  Eise,  take  first  position. 
Give  the  sentence,  "  Let  me  grasp  thce,"  in  the  orotund. 

PUPIL.  (Takes  position.]  "  Let  me  grasp  thee  "  (catches  hold 
of  Prof.) 

PROF.  Back  !  I  asked  for  the  tone,  not  the  action. 

PUPIL.  But  what  power  have  words  without  action  ? 

PROF.  Without  action  all  oratory  sinks  into  insignificance. 
Demosthenes  gave  action  as  the  first,  second  and  third  requi- 
sites to  a  perfect  orator.  But  you  are  now  not  performing 
the  part  of  a  speaker,  you  are  simply  giving  the  elements 
that  constitute  one.  Take  now  the  selection,  "  She  loved 
me,"  etc. 

PUPIL.  "  She  loved  me  for  the  tales  I  told, 

I  loved  her  for  the  beer  she  sold." 

PROF.  Is  your  memory  so  weak,  or  is  the  burlesque  so 
deeply  seated  in  you  that  you  murder  the  most  beautiful 
passages  ? 

PUPIL.  You  gave  me  to  understand  that  it  was  tone  you 
wanted,  not  action,  so  I  concluded  that  if  I  gave  you  the 
tone  correctly,  even  words  were  of  minor  importance. 

PROF.  Different  selections  require  different  tones.  Words 
have  all  to  do  with  tone.  As  you  are  inclined  to  the  comic, 
you  may  recite  a  stanza  from  the  Irish  Picket. 

PUPIL.       "  I'm  standing  in  the  mud,  Biddy, 

With  not  a  spalpeen  near  ; 
And  silence  spachless  as  the  grave 

Is  the  only  sound  I  hear  ; 
This  southern  climate's  quare,  liiddy, 

A  qua  10  and  beastly  thing, 


46  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

Wid  winter  absent  all  the  year, 
And  summer  in  the  spring.'5 

PROF.  A  little  too  much  of  the  dramatic,  but  we  will 
pass  on.  You  may  now  sit.  (Pupil  si's.]  Eecite  an  extract 
from  the  "  Hypochondriac." 

PUPIL.  The  "  Hypohcondriac  ?  "     I  never  saw  him. 

PROF.  We  have  had  that  selection  during  your  course. 
You  are  to  personate  a  man  that  is  ever  complaining,  one 
who  imagines  he  has  all  the  "  many  ills  to  which  the  flesh  is 
heir." 

PUPIL.  I  remember.  Give  me  a  towel  to  tie  on  my 
head. 

PROF.  This  will  do  as  well.  (Hands  him  red  silk  handker- 
chief. He  ties  it  on.} 

PUPIL.  "  Good  morning,  Doctor  ;  how  do  you  do  ?  I  haint 
quite  as  well  as  I  have  been ;  but  I-  think  I  am  somewhat 
better  than  I  was.  I  don't  think  that  last  medicin'  you  gin 
me  did  me  much  good.  I  had  a  terrible  time  with  the  ear- 
ache last  night ;  my  wife  got  up  and  drapped  a  few  draps  of 
walnut  sap  into  it,  and  that  relieved  it  some  ;  but  I  didn't  get 
a  wink  of  sleep  till  nearly  daylight.  For  nearly  a  week,  Dr., 
I've  had  the  worst  kind  of  a  narvous  headache  ;  it  has  been 
so  bad  sometimes  that  I  thought  my  head  would  bust  open. 
Oh,  doar  !  I  sometimes  think  that  I  am  the  most  afflictedest 
human  being  that  ever  lived,  (coughs.}  Oh,  dear !  but  that 
aint  all,  Dr.,  I've  got  fifteen  corns  on  my  toes — and  I'm  af- 
feard  I'm  going  to  have  the  yellow  jaundice,  (coughs.} 

PROF.  We  will  now  drop  the  comic.  You  may  next  give 
the  closing  part  of  Catiline's  speech. 

PUPIL,  (rises.}  "I  go  ;  but  not  to  leap  the  gulf  alone." 
(Mates  desperate  leav  on  stage.} 

PROF.  Hold  !  Mr.  S.,  you  well  know  that  there  is  but  one 
step  from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous,  and  why  do  you 
murder  that  sublime  passage  ? 

PUPIL.  I  was  merely  following  out  the  teachings  of  De^ 
mosthenes — action  is  the  essential  element  in  true  oratory. 


THE    PROFESSOR    PUZZLED.  47 

PROF.  Proper  action,  but  not  monkey-shines.  At  the 
word  leap  you  may  make  a  gesture  with  your  hand.  How 
often  have  I  told  you  that  stamping,  or  feet  gestures,  were 
entirely  out  of  place.  Try  it  again. 

PUPIL.     "  I  go  ;  but  not  to  leap  alone, 

I  go ;  but  when  I  come  'twill  be  the  burst 
Of  ocean  in  the  earthquake — rolling  back 

In  swift  and  mountainous  ruin.     Good-bye  ttow."1 

PROF.  "  Good-bye  now  ;  "  are  those  words  in  the  original  ? 

PUPIL.  "Words  of  the  same  import  are,  and  as  the  words 
"  Fare  thee  well,"  imply  the  same  as  "  good-bye,"  I  know 
of  no  reason  why  we  may  not  use  them. 

PROF.  The  rules  of  oratory,  I  admit,  are  many  and  va- 
riable. You  are  now  reciting  a  classical  production,  and 
he  words  "  good-bye  "  cannot  be  considered  classical.  ,-3e- 
jin  again  at  that  point. 

PUPIL.  "  Fare  you  well  ! 

You  build  my  funeral  pile  ;  but  your  best  blood 

Shall  quench  its  flame  !    Back,  Contrabands,  I  will  return." 

PROF.  Contraband  is  a  word  not  in  use  at  that  time,  j 
;ell  you,  Mr.  S.,  I  am  becoming  discouraged.  You  are  too 
careless.  Take  for  your  last  selection  Hamlet's  soliloquy. 

JUPIL.  '•'  To  marry,  or  not  to  marry?  that  is  the  question, 
Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the  mind  to  suffer 
The  jeers  and  banters  of  outrageous  females, 
Or  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles, 
And  by  proposing,  end  them.     To  court  ;  to  marry  ; 
To  be  a  bach  no  more  ;  and,  by  a  marriage,  end 
The  heart-ache,  and  the  thousand  and  one  ills 
Bachelors  are  heir  to ;  'tis  a  consummation 
Devoutly  to  be  wished.    But  the  dread  of  something  after 
Makes  us  rather  bear  the  ills  we  have 
Than  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of.  ' 

(^Comical  exit.) 


48  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 


THANATOPSIS. 

W.  C.  BRYANT. 

To  him  who,  in  the  love  of  Nature,  holds 

Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 

A  various  language :  for  his  gayer  hours 

She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 

And  eloquence  of  beauty ;  and  she  glides 

Into  his  darter  musings  with  a  mild 

And  gentle  sympathy,  that  steals  away 

Their  sharpnes-s,  ere  he  is  aware.     "When  thoughts 

Of  the  last  bitter  hour  come  like  a  blight 

Over  thy  spirit,  and  sad  images 

Of  the  stern  agony,  and  shroud,  and  pall, 

And  breathless  darkness,  and  the  narrow  house, 

Make  thee  to  shudder,  and  grow  sick  at  heart, 

Go  forth  under  the  open  sky,  and  list 

To  Nature's  teachings,  while  from  all  around — 

Earth  and  her  waters,  and  the  depths  of  air — 

Comes  a  still  voice — Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee 

The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 

In  all  his  course  ;  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground, 

Where  thy  pale  form  was  laid,  with  many  tears, 

Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean  shall  exist 

Thy  image.     Earth,  that  nourished  thee,  shall  claim 

Thy  growth,  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again  ; 

And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrendering  up 

Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 

To  mix  forever  with  the  elements  ; 

To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock, 

And  to  the  sluggish  clod,  which  the  rude  swain 

Turns  with  his  share,  and  treads  upon.     The  oak 

Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mould. 

Yet  not  to  thy  eternal  resting-place 

Shalt  thou  retire  alone — nor  couldst  thou  wish 

Couch  more  magnificent.     Thou  shalt  lie  down 

Wi<h  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world-— with  kings, 

The  powerful  of  the  earth — the  wteo,  the  good, 


THANATOPSIS.  49 


Fair  forms,  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past, 

All  in  one  mighty  sepulchre.     The  hills. 

Rock-ribbed,  and  ancient  as  the  sun  ;  the  Tales 

Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between  ; 

The  venerable  woods :  rivers  that  move 

In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks, 

That  make  the  meadows  green ;  and,  poured  round  all, 

Old  ocean's  grey  and  melancholy  waste — 

Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 

Of  the  great  tomb  of  man !     The  golden  sun, 

The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  Heaven, 

Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death, 

Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages.     All  that  tread 

The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 

That  slumber  in  its  bosorn.     Take  the  wings 

Of  morning,  and  the  Barcan  desert  pierce, 

Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 

Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound, 

Save  his  own  dashings — yet  the  dead  are  there  I 

And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first 

The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 

In  their  last  sleep — the  dead  reign  there  alone  I 

So  shalt  thou  rest ;  and  what  if  thou  shalt  fall 

Unnoticed  by  the  living,  and  no  friend 

Take  note  of  thy  departure  1     All  that  breathe 

Will  share  thy  destiny.     The  gay  will  laugh 

When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 

Plod  on,  and  each  one,  as  before,  will  chase 

His  favorite  phantom  ;  yet  all  these  shall  leave 

Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come 

And  make  their  bed  with  thee.     As  the  long  train 

Of  ages  glide  away,  the  sons  of  men — 

The  youth  in  life's  green  spring,  and  he  who  goes 

In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron  and  maid, 

The  bowed  with  age,  the  infant  in  the  smiles 

And  beauty  of  its  innocent  age  cut  off — 

Shall,  one  by  one,  be  gathered  to  thy  side, 

Br  those  who  in  their  turn  shall  follow  them 


50  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes,  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan,  that  moves 
To  the  pale  realms  of  shade,  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death, 
Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night, 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon  ;  but,  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 


THE  TWO  KOADS. 

RICHTEK. 

IT  was  New  Year's  night.  An  aged  man  was  standing  at 
a  window.  He  mournfully  raised  his  eyes  toward  the  deep 
blue  sky,  where  the  stars  were  floating  like  white  lilies  on 
the  surface  of  a  clear,  calm  lake.  Then  lie  cast  them  on  the 
earth,  where  few  more  helpless  beings  than  himself  were 
moving  towards  their  inevitable  goal — the  tomb.  Alreadpy 
he  had  passed  sixty  of  the  stages  which  lead  to  it,  and  he 
had  brought  from  his  journey  nothing  but  errors  and  re- 
morse. His  health  was  destroyed,  his  mind  unfurnished, 
his  heart  sorrowful,  and  his  old  age  devoid  of  comfort. 

The  days  of  his  youth  rose  up  in  a  vision  before  him,  and 
he  recalled  the  solemn  moment  when  his  father  had  placed 
him  at  the  entrance  of  two  roads,  one  leading  into  a  peace- 
ful, sunny  land,  covered  with  a  fertile  harvest,  and  resound- 
ing with  soft,  sweet  songs ;  while  the  other  conducted  the 
wanderer  into  a  deep,  dark  cave,  whence  there  was  no  issue, 
where  poison  flowed  instead  of  water,  and  where  serpents 
1  hissed  and  crawled. 

He  looked  towards  the  sky,  and  cried  out,  in  his  anguish  • 
"  O,  youth,  return  !  O,  my  father,  place  me  once  more  at  the 
crossway  of  life,  that  I  may  choose  the  better  road !  "  But 
the  days  of  his  youth  had  passed  away,  and  his  parents  were 
with  the  departed.  He  saw  wandering  lights  float  over 
dark  marshes,  and  then  disappear.  "  Such,"  he  said,  4<  were 


THE  PAWNBROKER'S  SHOP.  51 

the  days  of  my  wasted  life ! "  He  saw  a  star  shoot  from 
heaven,  and  vanish  in  the  darkness  athwart  the  church-yard. 
"  Behold  an,  emblem  of  myself!"  he  exclaimed;  and  the 
sharp  arrows  of  unavailing  remorse  struck  him  to  the  heart. 

Then  he  remembered  his  early  companions,  who  had  en- 
tfjred  life  with  him,  but  who,  having  trod  the  paths  of  virtue 
and  industry,  were  now  happy  and  honored  on  this  New 
Year's  night.  The  clock  in  the  high  church-tower  struck, 
and  the  sound,  falling  on  his  ear,  recalled  the  many  tokens 
of  the  love  of  his  parents  for  him,  their  erring  son  ;  the  les- 
sons they  had  taught  him;  the  prayers  they  had  offered  up 
in  his  behalf.  Overwhelmed  with  shame  and  grief,  he  dared 
no  longer  look  towards  that  heaven  where  they  dwelt.  His 
darkened  eyes  dropped  tears,  and,  with  one  despairing  effort, 
he  cried  aloud,  "  Come  back,  my  early  days  !  Come  back  !  " 

And  his  youth  did  return ;  for  all  this  had  been  but  a 
dream,  visiting  his  slumbers  on  New  Year's  night.  He  was 
still  young ;  his  errors  only  were  no  dream.  He  thanked 
God  fervently  that  time  was  still  his  own ;  that  he  had  not 
yet  entered  the  deep,  dark  cavern,  but  that  he  was  free  to 
tread  the  road  leading  to  the  peaceful  land  where  sunny  har- 
vests wave. 

Ye  who  still  linger  on  the  threshold  of  life,  doubting  which 
path  to  choose,  remember  that  when  years  shall  be  passed, 
and  your  feet  shall  stumble  on  the  dark  mountains,  you  will 
cry  bitterly,  but  cry  in  vain,  "  O,  youth  return  !  O,  give  me 
back  my  early  days  !  " 


THE  PAWNBEOKEE'S  SHOP. 

ANONYMOUS. 

'Tis  Saturday  night,  and  the  chill  rain  and  sleet 
Is  swept  by  the  wind  down  the  long  dreary  street ; 
The  lamps  in  the  windows  nicker  and  blink, 
As  the  wild  gale  whistles  through  cranny  and  chink ; 
But  round  yon  door  huddles  a  shivering  crowd 
Of  wretches,  by  pain  and  by  penury  bowed  ; 


52  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

And  oaths  are  muttered,  and  curses  drop 

From  their  lips  as  they  stand  by  the  Pawnbroker's  shop 

Visages,  hardened  and  seared  by  sin ; 
Faces,  bloated  and  pimpled  with  gin ; 
Crime,  with  its  plunder,  by  poverty's  side; 
Beauty  in  ruins  and  broken-down  pride. 
Modesty's  cheek  crimsoned  deeply  with  shame ; 
Youth's  active  form,  age's  fast-failing  frame, 
Have  come  forth  from  street,  lane,  alley,  and  stop. 
Heart-sick,  weary  and  worn,  at  the  Pawnbroker's  shop. 

With  the  rain  and  the  biting  wind  chilled  to  the  bone. 
Oh  !  how  they  gaze  upon  splendor,  and  groan  ! 
Around  them — above  them — wherever  they  gaze, 
There  were  jewels  to  dazzle  and  gold  to  amaze ; 
Velvets  that  tricked  out  some  beautiful  form  ; 
Furs,  which  had  shielded  from  winter  and  storm ; 
Crowded  with  "  pledges,"  from  bottom  to  top, 
Are  the  chests  and  the  shelves  of  the  Pawnbroker's  shop. 

There's  a  tear  in  the  eye  of  yon  beautiful  girl, 
As  she  parts  with  a  trinket  of  ruby  and  pearl ; 
Once  as  red  was  her  lip,  and  as  pure  was  her  brow  ; 
But  there  came  a  destroyer,  and  what  is  she  now  7 
Lured  by  liquor,  she  bartered  the  gem  of  her  fame, 
And  abandoned  by  virtue,  forsaken  by  shame, 
With  no  heart  to  pity,  no  kind  hand  to  prop, 
She  finds  her  last  friend  in  the  Pawnbroker's  shop. 

The  spendthrift,  for  gold  that  to-morrow  will  fly ; 

The  naked,  to  eke  out  a  meagre  supply  ; 

The  houseless,  to  rake  up  sufficient  to  keep 

His  head  from  the  stones  through  the  season  of  sleep : 

The  robber,  his  booty  to  turn  into  gold ; 

The  shrinking,  the  timid,  the  bashful,  the  bold ; 

The  penniless  drunkard,  to  get  "  one  more  drop/' 

All  seek  a  resource  in  the  Pawnbroker's  shop. 


THE    SOPHOMORES    SOLILOQUY. 

'Tis  a  record  of  ruin — a  temple  whose  stones 

Are  cemented  with  blood,  and  whose  music  is  groans ; 

Its  pilgrims  are  children  of  want  and  despair  ; 

Alike  grief  and  guilt  to  its  portals  repair ; 

Oh  !  we  need  not  seek  fiction  for  records  of  woe  ; 

Such  are  written  too  plainly  wherever  we  go ; 

And  sad  lessons  of  life  may  be  learned  as  we  stop 

'Neath  the  three  golden  balls  of  a  Pawnbroker's  shop. 


THE  SOPHOMOEE'S  SOLILOQUY. 

MICHIGAN   UNIVERSITY   MAGAZINE. 

"  To  be,  or  not  to  be  7 "  was  Hamlet's  question, 
And  his  discourse  draws  tears  from  many  an  eye  ; 

A  nobler  doubt  finds  in  my  heart  suggestion— 
To  dye,  or  not  to  dye  1 

It  is  not  that  I  fear  the  King  of  Terrors, 

Cross-bones  and  skull  call  up  no  dire  alarms, 

Be  sure  I'll  not  commit  that  worst  of  errors, 
Of  rushing  to  his  arms. 

Whenever  I  am  wanted  down  below, 

Old  Bones  will  come  and  catch  me,  if  he  can ; 

And  I  have  no  desire,  unasked,  to  go 
To  haunts  Tartarean. 

Nor  am  I  thinking  of  a  dwelling  charnel 

In  city  grave-yard,  or  'neath  greenwood  tree ; 

Than  heavenly  home,  or  stopping  place  infernal, 
Earth  hath  more  charms  for  me. 

But  of  dyeing  without  pain  or  sorrow, 

Or  sad  farewell,  with  fluttering,  fainting  breath ; 

A  dyeing  that  may  hap  again  to-morrow, 
A  dyeing  without  death. 

Yet  all  the  doubts  that  Hamlet  there  expresses 

Are  those  that  now  are  agitating  me ;.  ^ 


54  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

The  hopes  and  fears,  and  vague,  uncertain  guesses 
Of  what  my  fate  will  be. 

Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the  mind  to  suffer 
The  slights  that  nature  puts  upon  me  here, 

Or  take  the  chance  of  meeting  something  rougher 
Than  those  which  now  I  bear. 

If  black  proved  always  jet,  and  purple  never, 
If  yellow  ne'er  appeared  for  promised  brown, 

My  doubts  would  vanish,  and  no  mental  fever 
Would  weigh  my  spirits  down. 

But  yet,  to  see  the  smiles,  and  meet  the  glances 
Of  ridicule  from  girlhood's  eyes  that  flash ! 

It  is  too  bitter — I  must  take  the  chances, 
And  dye — my  young  moustache. 


THE  NATION'S  HYMN. 

ANONYMOUS. 

OUR  past  is  bright  and  grand 
In  the  purple  tints  of  time ; 
And  the  present  of  our  land 

Points  to  glories  more  sublime. 
For  our  destiny  is  won  ; 

And  'tis  ours  to  lead  the  van 
Of  the  nations  marching  on, 
Of  the  moving  hosts  of  man ! 
Yes,  the  Starry  Flag  alone 

Shall  wave  above  the  van, 
Of  the  nations  sweeping  on, 
Of  the  moving  hosts  of  man ! 

We  are  sprung  from  noble  sires 

As  were  ever  sung  in  song  ; 
We  are  bold  with  Freedom's  fires, 

We  are  rich,  and  wise,  and  strong. 


THE  NATION'S  HYMN.  55 

On  us  are  freely  showered 
The  gifts  of  every  clime, 
And  we're  the  richest  dowered 
Of  all  the  heirs  of  Time ! 

Brothers,  then,  in  Union  strong, 

We  shall  ever  lead  the  van, 
As  the  nations  sweep  along, 
To  fulfil  the  hopes  of  man ! 

We  are  brothers  ;  and  we  know 

That  our  Union  is  a  tower, 
When  the  fiercest  whirlwinds  blow, 
And  the  darkest  tempests  lower ! 
We  shall  sweep  the  land  and  sea, 

While  wre  march,  in  Union,  great, 
Thirty  millions  of  the  free 
With  the  steady  step  of  fate  ! 
Brothers,  then,  in  Union,  strong, 

Let  us  ever  lead  the  van, 
As  the  nations  sweep  along, 
To  fulfil  the  hopes  of  man  ! 

See  our  prairies,  sky-surrounded  ! 
See  our  sunlit  mountain  chains  ! 
See  our  waving  woods,  unbounded, 

And  our  cities  on  the  plains ! 
See  the  oceans  kiss  our  strand, 

Oceans  stretched  from  pole  to  pole ! 
See  our  mighty  lakes  expand, 
And  our  giant  rivers  roll ! 
Such  a  land,  and  such  alone, 

Should  be  leader  of  the  van, 
As  the  nations  sweep  along, 
To  fulfil  the  hopes  of  man ! 

Yes,  the  spirit  of  our  land, 

The  young  giant  of  the  West, 
With  the  waters  in  his  hand, 

With  the  forests  for  his  cresi  — 


56  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

To  our  hearts'  quick,  proud  pulsations, 

To  our  shouts  that  still  increase, 
Shall  yet  lead  on  the  nations, 
To  their  brotherhood  of  peace ! 
Yes,  Columbia,  great  and  strong, 

Shall  forever  lead  the  van, 
As  the  nations  sweep  along, 
To  fulfil  the  hopes  of  man ! 


ADDEESS  TO  A  SKELETON. 

ANONYMOUS. 

[The  MSS.  of  this  poem,  which  appeared  during-  the  first  quarter  of  the 
present  century,  was  said  to  have  been  found  in  the  Museum  of  the  Royal 
College  of  Surgeons,  in  London,  near  a  perfect  human  skeleton,  and  to  have 
been  sent  by  the  curator  to  the  Morning  CJironicle  for  publication.  It  excited 
so  mucli  attention,  that  every  effort  was  made  to  discover  the  author,  and  a 
responsible  party  went  so  far  as  to  offer  a  reward  of  fifty  guineas  for  informa- 
tion that  would  discover  its  origin.  The  author  preserved  his  incognito,  and, 
we  believe,  has  never  been  discovered.] 

BEHOLD  this  ruin !     ;Twas  a  skull 
Once  of  etherial  spirit  full. 
This  narrow  cell  was  Life's  retreat, 
This  space  was  Thought's  mysterious  seat 
What  beauteous  visions  filled  this  spot, 
What  dreams  of  pleasure  long  forgot  7 
Nor  hope,  nor  joy,  nor  love,  nor  fear, 
Have  left  one  trace  of  record  here. 

Beneath  this  mouldering  canopy 

Once  shone  the  bright  and  busy  eye, 

But  start  not  at  the  dismal  void — 

If  social  love  that  eye  employed. 

If  with  no  lawless  fire  it  gleamed, 

But  through  the  dews  of  kindness  beamed. 

That  eye  shall  be  forever  bright 

When  stars  and  sun  are  sunk  in  night. 

Within  this  hollow  cavern  hung 
The  ready,  swift  and  tuneful  tongue  • 


A    GLASS    OF    COLD    WATER.  57 

If  Falsehood's  honey  it  disdained, 

And  when  it  could  not  praise,  was  chained  j 

If  bold  in  Virtue's  cause  it  spoke, 

Yet  gentle  concord  never  broke  ; 

This  silent  tongue  shall  plead  for  thee 

When  Time  un vails  Eternity  ! 

Say,  did  these  fingers  delve  the  mine  1 
Or  with  the  envied  rubies  shine  1 
To  hew  the  rock  or  wear  a  gem 
Can  little  now  avail  to  them. 
But  if  the  page  of  Truth  they  sought, 
Or  comfort  to  the  mourner  brought, 
These  hands  a  richer  meed  shall  claim 
Than  all  that  wait  on  Wealth  and  Fame. 

Avails  it  whether  bare  or  shod, 
These  feet  the  paths  of  duty  trod  ? 
^If  from  the  bowers  of  Ease  they  fled,  • 
To  seek  Affliction's  humble  shed ; 
If  Grandeur's  guilty  bribe  they  spurned, 
And  home  to  Virtue's  cot  returned, 
These  feet  with  angel  wings  shall  vie, 
And  tread  the  palace  of  the  sky ! 


A  GLASS  OF  COLD  WATEE. 

J.   B.    GOUGH. 

WHERE  is  the  liquor  which  God  the  Eternal  brews  for  all 
his  children  ?  Not  in  the  simmering  still,  over  smoky  fires 
choked  with  poisonous  gases,  and  surrounded  with  the  stench 
of  sickening  odors,  and  rank  corruptions,  doth  your  Father 
in  heaven  prepare  the  precious  essence  of  life,  the  pure  cold 
water.  But  in  the  green  glade  and  grassy  dell,  where  the 
red  deer  wanders,  and  the  child  loves  to  play  ;  there  God 
brews  it.  And  down,  low  down  in  the  lowest  valleys,  where 
the  fountains  murmur  and  the  rills  sing  ;  and  high  upon  the 


58  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

the  tall  mountain  tops,  where  the  naked  granite  glitters  like 
gold  in  the  sun ;  where  the  storm-cloud  broods,  and  the 
thunder-storms  crash  ;  and  away  far  out  on  the  wide  wild  sea, 
where  the  hurricane  howls  music,  and  the  big  waves  roar  ; 
the  chorus  sweeping  the  march  of  God  :  there  he  brews  it — 
that  beverage  of  life  and  health-giving  water.  And  every- 
where it  is  a  thing  of  beauty,  gleaming  in  the  dew-drop  ; 
singing  in  the  summer  rain  ;  shining  in  the  ice-gem,  till  the 
leaves  all  seem  to  turn  to  living  jewels  ;  spreading  a  golden 
veil  over  the  setting  sun ;  or  a  white  gauze  around  the  mid- 
night moon. 

Sporting  in  the  cataract ;  sleeping  in  the  glacier ;  dancing 
in  the  hail  shower  ;  folding  its  bright  snow  curtains  softly 
about  the  wintry  world  ;  and  waving  the  many-colored  iris, 
that  seraph's  zone  of  the  sky,  whose  warp  is  the  rain-drop 
of  earth,  whose  woof  is  the  sunbeam  of  heaven  ;  all  check- 
ered over  with  celestial  flowers,  by  the  mystic  hand  of  re- 
fraction. * 

Still  always  it  is  beautiful,  that  life-giving  water ;  no 
poison  bubbles  on  its  brink ;  its  foam  brings  not  madness 
and  murder  ;  no  blood  stains  its  liquid  glass ;  pale  widows 
and  starving  orphans  weep  no  burning  tears  in  its  depth  ; 
no  drunken,  shrieking  ghost  from  the  grave  curses  it  in  the 
words  of  eternal  despair ;  speak  on,  my  friends,  would  you 
exchange  for  it  demon's  drink,  alcohol ! 


NEW  YEAB'S  EYE. 

ANONYMOUS. 

LITTLE  Gretchen,  little  Gretchen  wanders  up  and  down  the  street ; 
The  snow  is  on  her  yellow  hair,  the  frost  is  on  her  feet. 
The  rows  of  long,  dark  houses  without  look  cold  and  damp, 
By  the  struggling  of  the  moonbeam,  by  the  nicker  of  the  lamp. 
The  clouds  ride  fast  as  horses,  the  wind  is  from  the  north, 
But  no  one  cares  for  Gretchen,  and  no  one  looketh  forth. 


NEW  YEAK'S  EVE.  59 


Within  those  dark,  damp  houses  are  merry  faces  bright, 
And  happy  hearts  are  watching  out  the  old  year's  latest  night. 

With  the  little  box  of  matches  she  could  not  sell  all  day, 
And  the  thin,  tattered  mantle  the  wind  blows  every  way, 
She  clingeth  to  the  railing,  she  shivers  in  the  gloom — 
There  are  parents  sitting  snugly  by  the  firelight  in  the  room ; 
And  children  with  grave  faces  are  whispering  one  another 
Of  presents  for  the  new  year,  for  father  or  for  mother. 
But  no  one  talks  to  Gretchen,  and  no  one  hears  her  speak, 
No  breath  of  little  whisperers  comes  warmly  to  her  cheek. 

No  little  arms  are  round  her  :  ah  me  !  that  there  should  be, 
With  so  much  happiness  on  earth,  so  much  of  misery  ! 
Sure  they  of  many  blessings  should  scatter  blessings  round, 
As  laden  boughs  in  Autumn  fling  their  ripe  fruits  to  the  ground. 
And  the  best  love  man  can  offer  to  the  God  of  love,  be  sure, 
Is  kindness  to  his  little  ones,  and  bounty  to  his  poor. 
Little  Gretchen,  little  Gretchen  goes  coldly  on  her  way  ; 
There's  no  one  looketh  out  at  her,  there's  no  one  bids  her  stay. 

Her  home  is  cold  and  desolate ;  no  smile,  no  food,  no  fire, 
But  children  clamorous  for  bread,  and  an  impatient  sire. 
So  she  sits  down  in  an  angle  where  two  great  houses  meet, 
And  she  curleth  up  beneath  her  for  warmth  her  little  feet ; 
And  she  looketh  on  the  the  cold  wall,  and  on  the  colder  sky, 
And  wonders  if  the  little  stars  are  bright  fires  up  on  high. 
She  hears  the  clock  strike  slowly,  up  in  a  church  tower, 
With  such  a  sad  and  solemn  tone,  telling  the  midnight  hour. 

And  she  remembered  her  of  tales  her  mother  used  to  tell, 
And  of  the  cradle-songs  she  sang,  when  Summer's  twilight  fell ; 
Of  good  men  and  of  angels,  and  of  the  Holy  Child, 
Who  was  cradled  in  a  manger,  when  Winter  was  most  wild  ; 
Who  was  poor,  and  cold,  and  hungry,  arid  desolate  arid  lone  ; 
And  she  thought  the  song  had  told  he  was  ever  with  his  own  ; 
And  all  the  poor  and  hungry  and  forsaken  ones  are  his  — 
"How  good  of  Him  to  look  on  me  in  such  a  place  as  this  !  " 

9 


60  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

Colder  it  grows  and  colder,  but  she  does  not  feel  it  now, 
For  the  pressure  on  her  heart,  and  the  weight  upon  her  brow  ; 
But  she  struck  one  little  match  on  the  wall  so  cold  and  bare, 
That  she  might  look  around  her,  and  see  if  He  were  there. 
The  single  match  has  kindled,  and  by  the  light  it  threw 
It  seemed  to  litt.e  Qretchen  the  wall  was  rent  in  two  ; 
And  she  could  see  folks  seated  at  a  table  richly  spread, 
With  heaps  of  goodiy  viands,  red  wine  and  pleasant  bread. 

She  could  smell  the  fragrant  savor,  she  could  hear  what  ti*ey  di4 

say, 

Then  all  was  darkness  once  again,  the  match  had  burned  away. 
She  struck  another  hastily,  and  now  she  seemed  to  see 
Within  the  same  warm  chamber  a  glorious  Christmas  tree. 
The  branches  were  all  laden  with  things  that  children  prize, 
Bright  gifts  for  boy  and  maiden — she  saw  them  with  her  eyes. 
And  she  almost  seemed  to  touch  them,  and  to  join   the  welcome 

shout, 
When  darkness  fell  around  her,  for  the  little  match  was  out. 

Another,  yet  another,  she  has  tried — they  will  not  light ; 
Till  all  her  little  store  she  took,  and  struck  with  all  her  might : 
And  the  whole  miserable  place  was  lighted  with  the  glare, 
And  she  dreamed  there  stood  a  little  child  before  her  in  the  air. 
There  were  blood-drops  on  his  forehead,  a  spear-wound  in  his  side, 
And  cruel  nail-prints  in  his  feet,  and  in  his  hands  spread  wide. 
And  he  looked  upon  her  gently,  and  she  felt  that  he  had  known 
Pain,  hunger,  cold,  and  sorrow — ay,  equal  to  her  own. 

And  he  pointed  to  the  laden  board  and  to  the  Christmas  tree, 
Then  up  to  the  cold  sky,  and  said, {:  Will  Qretchen  come  with  me  1  " 
r  The  poor  child  felt  her  pulses  fail,  she  felt  her  eyeballs  swim, 
And  a  ringing   sound   was   in   her  ears,   like   her  dead  mother's 

hymn  : 
And  she  folded  both  her  thin   white  hands,  and  turned  from  that 

bright  board, 
And  from  the  golden  gifts,  and  said,  "  With   thee,  with   thee,  0, 

Lord  i  " 


THE    SONG    OF    SHERMAN'S   ARMY.  61 

The  chilly  winter  morning  breaks  up  in  the  dull  skies 

On  the  city  wrapt  in  vapor,  on  the  spot  where  Gretchen  lies. 

In  her  scant  and  tattered  garments,  with  her  back  against  the  wall, 

She  sitteth  cold  and  rigid,  she  answers  to  no  call. 

They  have  lifted  her  up  fearfully,  they  shuddered  as  they  said, 

"It  was  a  bitter,  bitter  night!  the  child  is  frozen  dead." 

The  angels  sang  their  greeting  for  one  more  redeemed  from  sin  ; 

Men  said,  "  It  was  a  bitter  night;  would  no  one  let  her  in  1  " 

And  they  shivered  as  they  spoke  of  her,  and  sighed.     They  could 

not  see 
How  much  of  happiness  there  was  after  that  misery. 


THE  SONG  OF  SHEEMAN'S  AEMY. 

C.  G.  HALPINI. 

A  PILLAR  of  fire  by  night, 

A  pillar  of  *smoke  by  day, 
Some  hours  of  march,  then  a  halt  to  fight, 

And  so  we  hold  our  way  ; 
Some  hours  of  march,  then  a  halt  to  fight, 

As  on  we  hold  our  way. 

Over  mountain,  and  plain,  and  stream, 

To  some  bright  Atlantic  bay, 
With  our  arms  aflash  in  the  morning  beam, 

We  hold  our  festal  way ; 
With  our  arms  aflash  in  the  morning  beam, 

We  hold  our  checkless  way  ! 

There  is  terror  wherever  we  come. 

There  is  terror  and  wild  dismay 
When  they  see  the  Old  Flag  and  hear  the  drum 

Announce  us  on  the  way  ; 
When  they  see  the  Old  Flag  and  hear  the  drum. 

Beating  time  to  our  onward  way. 

Never  unlimber  a  gun 

Fcr  those  villainous  lines^in  grey, 


62  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

Draw  sabres !  and  at  'em  upon  the  run  ! 

'Tis  thus  we  clear  our  way, 
Draw  sabres,  and  soon  you  will  see  them  run, 

As  we  hold  our  conquering  way. 

The  loyal,  who  long  have  been  dumb, 

Are  loud  in  their  cheers  to-day  ; 
And  the  old  men  out  on  their  crutches  come, 

To  see  us  hold  our  way ; 
And  the  old  men  out  on  their  crutches  come, 

To  bless  us  on  our  way. 

Around  us  in  rear  and  flanks, 

Their  futile  squadrons  play, 
With  a  sixty-mile  front  of  steady  ranks, 

We  hold  our  checkless  way ; 
With  a  sixty-mile  front  of  serried  ranks. 

Our  banner  clears  the  way. 

0 

Hear  the  spattering  fire  that  starts 

From  the  woods  and  copses  grey, 
There  is  just  enough  fighting  to  quicken  our  hearts, 

As  we  frolic  along  the  way ! 
There  is  just  enough  fighting  to  warm  our  hearts, 

As  we  rattle  along  the  way. 

Upon  different  roads  abreast 

The  heads  of  our  columns  gay, 
With  fluttering  flags,  all  forward  pressed, 

Hold  on  their  conquering  way. 
With  fluttering  flags  to  victory  pressed, 

We  hold  our  glorious  way. 

Ah,  traitors  !  who  bragged  so  bold 

In  the  sad  war's  early  day, 
Did  nothing  predict  you  should  ever  behold 

The  Old  Flag  come  this  way  ? 
Did  nothing  predict  you  should  yet.  behold 

Our  banner  come  back  this  way  1 


THE  SEA  CAPTAIN'S  STORY.  63 

By  heaven !  'tis  a  gala  march, 

'Tis  a  pic-nic  or  a  play  ; 
Of  all  our  long  war  'tis  the  crowning  arch, 

Hip,  hip  !  for  Sherman's  way  ! 
Of  all  our  long  war  this  crowns  the  arch — 

For  Sherman  and  Grant,  hurrah ! 


THE  SEA  CAPTAIN'S  STOEY. 

LORD  LYTTON. 

GENTLE  lady  ! 

The  key  of  some  cliarm'd  music  in  your  voice 
Unlocks  a  long-closed  chamber  in  my  soul ; 
And  would  you  listen  to  an  outcast's  tale, 
'Tis  briefly  told.     Until  my  fourteenth  year, 
Beneath  the  roof  of  an  old  village  priest, 
Nor  far  from  hence,  my  childhood  wore  away. 
Then  waked  within  me  anxious  thoughts  and  deep. 
Throughout  the  liberal  and  melodious  nature 
Something  seem'd  absent — what,  I  scarcely  knew — 
Till  one  calm  night,  when  over  earth  and  wave 
Heaven  looked  its  love  from  all  its  numberless  stars — 
Watchful  yet  breathless — suddenly  the  sense 
Of  my  sweet  want  swelled  in  me,  and  I  ask'd 
The  priest — why  I  was  motherless  7 
He  wept  and  answer' d  "  I  was  nobly  born  !  " 

As  he  spake, 

There  gleamed  across  my  soul  a  dim  remembrance 
Of  a  pale  face  in  infancy  beheld — 
A  shadowy  face,  but  from  whose  lips  there  breathed 
The  words  that  none  but  mothers  murmur  ! 

'Twas  at  that  time  there  came 
Into  our  hamlet  a  rude  jovial  seaman, 
With  the  frank  mien  boys  welcome,  and  wild  tales 
Of  the  far  off  .Indian  lands,  from  which  mine  ear 
Drank  envious  wonder.     Brief — his  legends  fired  rne, 
And  from  the  deep,  whose  billows  washed  the  shore 
On  which  our  casement  look'd,  I  heard  a  voice 


64  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

That  woo'd  me  to  its  bosom  :  Raleigh's  fame, 

The  New  World's  marvels,  then  made  old  men  heroes, 

An  1  young  men  dreamers  !    So  I  left  my  home 

With  that  wild  seaman. 

The  villain  whom  I  trusted,  when  we  reached 

T!i3  bark  Ii3  rulei,  cast  ni3  to  chains  and  darkness, 

And  so  to  sea.     At  length  no  land  in  sight, 

His  crew — dark,  swarthy  men— the  refuse  crimes 

Of  many  lands — (for  he,  it  seems  a  pirate) 

CalPd  me  on  deck— struck  off  my  fetters  :  "  Boy  !  " 

He  said,  and  grimly  smiled  :  "  not  mine  the  wrong ; 

Thy  chains  are  forged  from  gold,  the  gold  of  those 

Who  gave  thee  birth  !  " 

I  wrench'd 

From  his  own  hand  the  blade  it  bore,  and  struck 
The  slanderer  to  my  feet.     With  that,  a  shout, 
A  hundred  knives  g'eam'd  round  me  ;  but  the  pirate, 
Wiping  the  gore  from  his  gaslrd  brow,  cried  "  Hold  ! 
Such  death  were  mercy/'     Thsn  they  grip  d  an  I  bound  me 
To  a  slight  plank — spread  to  the  wind  their  sails, 
And  left  me  on  the  waves  alone  with  God  ! 
That  day,  and  all  that  night,  upon  the  seas 
Toss'd  the  frail  barrier  between  life  and  death. 
Heaven  lull'd  the  gales  ;  and  when  the  stars  came  forth, 
All  look'd  so  bland  and  gentle  that  I  wept, 
Recall'd  that  wretch's  words,  and  murmur'd,  "  Wave 
And  wind  are  kinder  than  a  parent." 
Day  dawn'd,  and  glittering  in  the  sun,  behold 
A  sail — a  flag  ! 

It  pass'd  away, 

And  saw  me  not.     Noon,  and  then  thirst  and  famine  ; 
And,  with  parch 'd  lips,  I  call'd  on  death,  and  sought 
To  wrench  my  limbs  from  the  stiff  cords  that  gnaw'd 
Into  the  flesh,  and  drop  into  the  deep ; 
And  then  methought  I  saw  beneath  tho  clear 
And  crystal  lymph,  a  dark,  swift-moving  thing, 
With  watchful  glassy  eyes — the  ocean-monster 
That  follows  ships  for  prey.     Then  life  once  more 
Grew  sweet,  and  with  a  straine  1  and  horrent  gaze, 


OUR    HEROES.  65 

And  lifted  hair,  I  floated-  on,  till  sense 
Grew  dim  and  diralier,  and  a  terrible  sleep, 
la  which  still,  still  those  livid  eyes  met  mine, 
Fell  on  me. 

I  awoke,  and  heard 

My  native  tongue.     Kind  looks  were  bent  upon  me ; 
I  lay  on  deck,  escaped  the  ghastly  death — 
For  God  had  watch'd  the  sleeper  ! 


OUE  HEEOES. 

JOHN   A.    A^DHEW. 

THE  heart  swells  with  unwonted  emotion  when  we  re- 
member our  sons  and  brothers  whose  constant  valor  has  sus- 
tained, on  the  field,  the  cause  of  our  country,  of  civilization, 
and  liberty.  On  the  ocean,  on  the  rivers,  on  the  land,  on 
the  heights  where  they  thundered  down  from  the  clouds 
of  Lookout  Mountain  the  defiance  of  the  skies,  they  have 
graven  with  their  swords  a  record  imperishable. 

The  Muse  herself  demands  the  lapse  of  silent  years  to 
soften,  by  the  influences  of  Time,  her  too  keen  and  poignant 
realization  of  the  scenes  of  War — the  pathos,  the  heroism, 
the  fierce  joy,  the  grief  of  battle.  But,  during  the  ages  to 
come,  she  will  brood  over  their  memory.  Into  the  hearts  of 
her  consecrated  priests  she  will  breathe  the  inspirations  of 
lofty  and  undying  beauty,  sublimity,  and  truth,  in  all  the 
glowing  forms  of  speech,  of  literature,  and  plastic  art.  By 
the  homely  traditions  of  tho  fireside, — by  the  head-stones  in 
the  church-yard  consecrated  to  those  whose  forms  repose  far 
off  in  rude  graves  by  the  Rappahannock,  or  sleep  beneath  the 
sea, — embalmed  in  the  memories  of  succeeding  generations 
of  parents  and  children,  the  heroic  dead  will  live  on  in  im- 
mortal youth.  By  their  names,  their  character,  their  service, 
their  fate,  their  glory,  they  cannot  fail : — 

"  They  never  fail  who  die 
In  a  great  cause  ;  the  block  may  soak  their  goro  j 


66  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

Their  heads  may  sodden  in  the  sun,  their  limbs 

Be  strung  to  city  gates  and  castle  wall ; 

But  still  their  spirit  .walks  abroad.     Though  years 

Elapse,  and  others  share  as  dark  a  doom, 

They  but  augment  the  deep  and  sweeping  thoughts 

Which  overpower  all  others,  and  conduct 

The  world  at  last  to  FREEDOM." 

The  edict  of  Mantes,  maintaining  the  religious  liberty  of 
the  Huguenots,  gave  lustre  to  the  fame  of  Henry  the  Great, 
whose  name  will  gild  the  pages  of  history  after  mankind 
may  have  forgotten  the  material  prowess  and  the  white  plume 
'  of  Navarre.  The  Great  Proclamation  of  Liberty  will  lift  the 
ruler  who  uttered  it,  our  nation  and  our  age,  above  all  vul- 
gar destiny. 

The  bell  which  rang  out  the  Declaration  of  Independence 
has  found  at  last  a  voice  articulate,  to  "  proclaim  liberty 
throughout  all  the  land  unto  all  the  inhabitants  thereof." 
It  has  been  heard  across  oceans,  and  has  modified  the  senti- 
ments of  cabinets  and  kings.  The  people  of  the  Old  World 
have  heard  it,  and  their  hearts  stop  to  catch  the  last  whis" 
per  of  its  echoes.  The  poor  slave  has  heard  it,  and  with 
bounding  joy,  tempered  by  the  mystery  of  religion,  he  wor- 
ships and  adores.  The  waiting  continent  has  heard  it,  and 
already  foresees  the  fulfilled  prophecy,  when  she  will  sit 
"  redeemed,  regenerated,  and  disenthralled  by  the  irresistible 
Genius  of  Universal  Emancipation." 


THE  CLOSING  YEAE. 

GEORGE   D.    PBENTIOB. 

'Tis  midnight's  holy  hour, — and  silence  now 

Is  brooding  like  a  gentle  spirit  o'er 

The  still  and  pulseless  world.     Hark  !  on  the  winds 

The  bell's  deep  tones  are  swelling  — 'tis  the  knell 

Of  the  departed  year.     No  funeral  train 

Is  sweeping  past ;  yot;  on  the  stream  and  wood, 


THE    CLOSING    YEAR.  67 

With  melancholy  light,  the  moon-beams  rest 

Like  a  pale,  spotless  shroud  ;  the  air  is  stirred 

As  by  a  mourner's  sigh  ;  and  on  yon  cloud 

That  floats  so  still  and  placidly  through  heaven. 

The  spirits  of  the  seasons  seem  to  stand, — 

Young  Spring,  bright  Summer,  Autumn's  solemn  form, 

And  Winter  with  its  aged  locks, — and  breathe, 

In  mournful  cadences  that  come  abroad 

Like  the  far  wind-harp's  wild  and  touching  wail, 

A  melancholy  dirge  o'er  the  dead  year, 

Gone  from  the  Earth  forever. 

Tis  a  time 

For  memory  and  for  tears.     Within  the  deep, 
Still  chambers  of  the  heart,  a  spectre  dim, 
Whose  tones  are  like  the  wizard's  voice  of  Time 
Heard  from  the  tomb  of  ages,  points  its  cold 
And  solemn  finger  to  the  beautiful 
4  And  holy  visions  that  have  passed  away, 
And  left  no  shadow  of  their  loveliness 
On  the  dead  waste  of  life.     That  spectre  lifts 
The  coffin-lid  of  Hope,  and  Joy,  and  Love, 
And  bending  mournfully  above  the  pale, 
Sweet  forms,  that  slumber  there,  scatters  dead  flowers 
O'er  what  has  passed  to  nothingness. 

The  year 

Has  gone,  and  with  it,  many  a  glorious  throng 
Of  happy  dreams.     Its  mark  is  on  each  brow, 
Its  shadow  in  each  heart.     In  its  swift  course, 
It  waved  its  sceptre  o'er  the  beautiful, — 
And  they  are  not.     It  laid  its  pallid  hand 
Upon  the  .strong  man, — and  the  haughty  form 
Is  fallen,  and  the  flashing  eye  is  dim. 
It  trod  the  hall  of  revelry,  where  thronged 
The  bright  and  joyous, — and  the  tearful  wail 
Of  stricken  ones  is  heard  where  erst  the  song 
And  reckless  shout  resounded. 


RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

It  passed  o'er 

The  battle-plain  where  sword,  and  spear,  and  shield, 
Flashed  in  the  light  of  raid-day, — and  the  strength 
Of  serried  hosts  is  shivered,  and  the  grass, 
Green  from  the  soil  of  carnage,  waves  above 
The  crushed  and  mouldering  skeleton.     It  came, 
And  faded  like  a  wreath  of  mist  at  eve  ; 
Yet  ere  it  melted  in  the  viewless  air 
It  heralded  its  millions  to  their  home 
In  the  dim  land  of  dreams. 

Remorseless  Time  ! 

Fierce  spirit  of  the  glass  and  scythe  ! — what  power 
Can  stay  him  in  his  silent  course,  or  melt 
His  iron  heart  to  pity  ']     On,  still  on, 
He  presses,  and  forever.     The  proud  bird, 
The  condor  of  the  Andes,  that  can  soar 
Through  heaven's  unfathomable  depths,  or  brave 
The  fury  of  the  northern  hurricane, 
And  bathe  his  plumage  in  the  thunder's  home, 
Furls  his  broad  wings  at  nightfall,  and  sinks  down 
To  rest  upon  his  mountain  crag, — but  Time 
Knows  not  the  weight  of  sleep  or  weariness, 
And  night's  deep  darkness  has  no  chain  to  bind 
His  rushing  pinions. 

Revolutions  sweep 

O'er  earth,  like  troubled  visions  o'er  the  breast 
Of  dreaming  sorrow, — cities  rise  and  sink 
Like  bubbles  on  the  water, — fiery  isles 
Spring  blazing  from  the  ocean,  and  go  back 
To  their  mysterious  caverns, — mountains  rear 
To  heaven  their  bald  and  blackened  cliffs,  and  bow 
Their  tall  heads  to  the  plain, — new  empires  rise, 
Gathering  the  strength  of  hoary  centuries, 
And  rush  down  like  the  Alpine  avalanche, 
Startling  the  nations, — and  the  very  stars, 
Yon  bright  and  burning  blazonry  of  God, 
Glitter  a  while  in  their  eternal  depths, 


BURIAL    OF    LITTLE    NELL.  69 

And,  like  the  Pleiads,  loveliest  of  their  train, 
Shoot  from  their  glorious  spheres,  and  pass  away 
To  darkle  in  the  trackless  void, — Yet,  Time, 
Time,  the  tomb-builder,  holds  his  fierce  career, 
Dark,  stern,  all-pitiless,  and  pauses  riot 
Amid  the  mighty  wrecks  that  strew  his  path 
To  sit  and  muse,  like  other  conquerors 
Upon  the  fearful  ruin  he  has  wrought. 


BUEIAL  OF  LITTLE  NELL. 

CHARLES    DICKENS. 

N  morning  came,  and  they  could  speak  more  calmly 
on  the  subject  of  their  grief,  they  heard  how  her  life  had 
closed. 

She  had  been  dead  two  days.  They  were  all  about  her  at 
bhe  time,  knowing  that  the  end  was  drawing  on.  She  died 
soon  after  daybreak.  They  had  read  and  talked  to  her  in 
bhe  earlier  portion  of  the  night,  but  as  the  honrs  crept  on, 
she  sunk  to  sleep.  They  could  tell  by  what  she  faintly 
uttered  in  her  dreams,  that  they  were  of  her  journey  ings 
with  the  old  man ;  they  were  of  no  painful  scenes,  but  of 
those  who  had  helped  and  used  them  kindly,  for  she  often 
said  "  God  bless  you ! "  with  great  fervor.  Waking,  she 
never  wandered  in  her  mind  but  once,  and  that  was  at  beau- 
biful  music  which  she  said  was  in  the  air.  God  knows.  It 
may  have  been. 

Opening  her  eyes  at  last,  from  a  very  quiet  sleep,  she  beg- 
ged that  they  would  kiss  her  once  again.  That  done,  she 
burned  to  the  old  man  with  a  lovely  smile  upon  her  face — 
such,  they  said,  as  they  had  never  seen,  and  never  could  for- 
get— and  clung  with  both  her  arms  about  his  neck.  They 
did  not  know  that  she  was  dead  at  first. 

She  had  spoken  very  often  of  the  two  sisters,  who,  she 
said,  were  like  dear  friends  to  her.  She  wished  they  could 


70  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

be  told  how  much  she  thought  about  them,  and  how  she  had 
watched  them  as  they  walked  together  by  the  river  side  at 
night.  She  would  like  to  see  poor  Kit,  she  had  often  said 
of  late.  She  wished  there  was  somebody  to  take  her  love  to 
Kit.  And  even  then,  she  never  thought  or  spoke  about  him 
but  with  something  of  her  old,  clear,  merry  laugh. 

For  the  rest,  she  had  never  murmured  or  complained  ;  but, 
with  a  quiet  mind,  and  manner  quite  unaltered — save  that 
she  every  day  became  more  earnest  and  more  grateful  to 
them — faded  like  the  light  upon  the  summer's  evening. 

The  child  who  had  been  her  little  friend  came  there  almost 
as  soon  as  it  was  day,  with  an  offering  of  dried  flowers,  which 
he  begged  them  to  lay  upon  her  breast.  It  was  he  who  had 
come  to  the  window  over  night  and  spoken  to  the  sexton, 
and  they  saw  in  the  snow  traces  of  small  feet,  where  he  had 
been  lingering  near  the  room  in  which  she  lay  before  he 
went  to  bed.  He  had  a  fancy,  it  seemed,  that  they  had  left 
her  there  alone  ;  and  could  not  bear  the  thought. 

He  told  them  of  his  dream  again,  and  that  it  was  of  her 
being  restored  to  them,  just  as  she  used  to  be.  He  begged 
hard  to  see  her,  saying  that  he  would  be  very  quiet,  and  that 
they  need  not  fear  his  being  alarmed,  for  he  had  sat  alone  by 
his  younger  brother  all  day  long,  when  he  was  dead,  and  had 
felt  glad  to  be  so  near  him.  They  let  him  have  his  wish  ; , 
and  indeed  he  kept  his  word,  and  was  in  his  childish  way  a 
lesson  to  them  all. 

Up  to  that  time  the  old  man  had  not  spoken  once — except 
to  her — or  stirred  from  the  bedside.  But  when  he  saw  her 
little  favorite,  he  was  moved  as  they  had  not  seen  him  yet, 
and  made  as  though  he  would  have  him  come  nearer.  Then 
pointing  to  the  bed  he  burst  into  tears  for  the  first  time,  and 
they  who  stood  by,  knowing  that  the  sight  of  this  child  had 
done  him  good,  left  them  alone  together. 

Soothing  him  with  his  artless  talk  of  her,  the  child  per- 
suaded him  to  take  some  rest,  to  walk  abroad,  to  do  almost 
as  he  desired  him.  And  when  the  day  came  on,  which  must 
remove  her  in  her  earthly  shape  from  earthly  eyes  forever, 


BURIAL    OF    LITTLE    NELL.  71 

he  led  him  away,  that  he  might  not  know  when  she  was 
taken  from  him. 

They  were  to  gather  fresh  leaves  and  berries  for  her  bed. 
It  was  Sunday — a  bright  clear,  wintry  afternoon — and  as 
they  traversed  the  village  street,  those  who  were  walking  in 
their  path  drew  back  to  make  way  for  them,  and  gave  them 
a  softened  greeting.  Some  shook  the  old  man  kindly  by  the 
hand,  some  stood  uncovered  while  he  tottered  by,  and  many 
cried  "  God  help  him  !  "  as  he  passed  along. 

"  Neighbor !  "  said  the  old  man,  stopping  at  the  cottage 
where  his  young  guide's  mother  dwelt,  "  how  is  it  that  the 
folks  are  nearly  all  in  black  to-day  ?  I  have  seen  a  mourn- 
ing ribbon  or  a  piece  of  crape  on  almost  every  one." 

She  could  not  tell,  the  woman  said. 

"  "Why,  you  yourself — you  wear  the  color  too ! "  he  cried. 
"Windows  are  closed  that  never  used  to  be  by  day.  What 
does  this  mean  ?  " 

Again  the  woman  said  she  could  not  tell. 

"We  must  go  back,"  said  the  old  man,  hurriedly.  "We 
must  see  what  this  is." 

"  No,  no,"  cried  the  child,  detaining  him.  "  Remember 
what  you  promised.  Our  way  is  to  the  old  green  lane, 
where  she  and  I  so  often  were,  and  where  you  found  us  more 
than  once  making  those  garlands  for  her  garden.  Do  not 
turn  back ! " 

"  Where  is  she  now  ?  "  said  the  old  man.     "  Tell  me  that." 

"  Do  you  not  know  ?  "  returned  the  child.  "  Did  we  not 
leave  her  but  just  now  ?  " 

"  True.     True.     It  icas  her  we  left — was  it !  " 

He  pressed  his  hand  upon  his  brow,  looked  vacantly  round, 
and  as  if  impelled  by  a  sudden  thought,  crossed  the  road,  and 
entered  the  sexton's  houso.  He  and  his  deaf  assistant  were 
sitting  before  the  fire.  Bath  rose  up,  on  seeing  who  it  was. 

The  child  made  a  hasty  sign  to  them  with  his  hand.  It 
was  the  action  of  an  instant,  but  that,  and  the  old  man's 
look,  were  quite  enough. 

"  Do  you — do  you  bury  any  one  to-day  V  **  he  said  eagerly. 


72  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

"  No,  no  !  Who  should  we  bury,  sir  r  "  returned  the 
sexton. 

"  Ay,  who  indeed  !  I  say  with  you,  who  indeed  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  holiday  with  us,  good  sir,"  returned  the  sexton 
mildly.  "  We  have  no  work  to  do  to-day." 

"  Why  then,  I'll  go  where  you  will,"  said  the  old  man, 
turning  to  the  child.  "  You're  sure  of  what  you  tell  me  ? 
You  would  not  deceive  me  ?  I  am  changed  even  in  the  little 
time  since  you  last  saw  me." 

"  Go  thy  ways  with  him,  sir,"  cried  the  sexton,  "  and 
Heaven  be  with  ye  both ! " 

"  I  am  quite  ready,"  said  the  old  man,  meekly.  "  Come, 
boy,  come  " — and  so  submitted  to  be  led  away. 

And  now  the  bell — the  bell  she  had  so  often  heard  by 
night  and  day,  and  listened  to  with  solemn  pleasure  almost 
as  a  living  voice — rung  its  remorseless  toll  for  her,  so  young, 
so  beautiful,  so  good.  Decrepit  age,  and  vigorous  life,  and 
blooming  youth,  and  helpless  infancy,  poured  forth — on 
crutches,  in  the  pride  of  strength  and  health,  in  the  full 
blush  of  promise,  in  the  mere  dawn  of  life — to  gather  round 
her  tomb.  Old  men  were  there,  whose  eyes  were  dim  and 
senses  failing — grandmothers,  who  might  have  died  ten  years 
ago,  and  still  been  old — the  deaf,  the  blind,  the  lame,  the 
palsied,  the  living  dead  in  many  shapes  and  forms,  to  see  the 
closing  of  that  early  grave.  What  was  the  death  it  would 
shut  in,  to  that  which  still  could  crawl  and  creep  above  it ! 

Along  the  crowded  path  they  bore  her  now ;  pure  as  the 
newly-fallen  snow  that  covered  it ;  whose  day  on  earth  had 
been  as  fleeting.  Under  that  porch,  where  she  had  sat  when 
Heaven  in  its  mercy  brought  her  to  that  peaceful  spot,  she 
passed  again,  and  the  old  church  received  her  in  its  quiet 
shade. 

They  carried  her  to  one  old  nook,  where  she  had  many 
and  many  a  time  sat  musing,  and  laid  their  burden  softly 
on  the  pavement.  The  light  streamed  on.  it  through  the 
colored  window — a  window,  where  the  boughs  of  trees 
were  ever  rustling  in  the  summer,  and  where  the  birds  sang 


BURIAL    OF    LITTLE    NELL.  73 

sweetly  all  day  long.  With  every  breatli  of  air  that  stirred 
among  those  branches  in  the  sunshine,  some  trembling, 
changing  light,  would  fall  upon  her  grave. 

Earth  to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust.  Many  a  young 
hand  dropped  in  its  little  wreath,  many  a  stifled  sob  was 
heard.  Some — and  they  were  not  a  few — knelt  down.  All 
were  sincere  and  truthful  in  their  sorrow. 

The  service  done,  the  mourners  stood  apart,  and  the  vil- 
lagers closed  round  to  look  into  the  grave  before  the  pave- 
ment stone  should  be  replaced.  One  called  to  mind  how 
he  had  seen  her  sitting  on  that  very  spot,  and  how  her 
book  had  fallen  on  her  lap,  and  she  was  gazing  with  a  pen- 
sive face  upon  the  sky.  Another  told,  how  he  had  wondered 
much  that  one  so  delicate  as  she,  should  be  so  bold ;  how 
she  had  never  feared  to  enter  the  church  alone  at  night,  but 
had  loved  to  linger  there  when  all  was  quiet ;  and  even  to 
climb  the  tower  stair,  with  no  more  light  than  that  of  the 
moon  rays  stealing  through  the  loopholes  in  the  thick  old 
wall.  A  whisper  went  about  among  the  oldest  there,  that 
she  had  seen  and  talked  with  angels :  and  when  they  called 
to  mind  how  she  had  looked,  and  spoken,  and  her  early 
death,  some  thought  it  might  be  so  indeed.  Thus,  coming 
to  the  grave  in  little  knots,  and  glancing  down,  and  giving 
place  to  others,  and  falling  off  in  whispering  groups  of  three 
or  four,  the  church  was  cleared  in  time  of  all  but  the  sexton 
and  the  mourning  friends. 

They  saw  the  vault  covered  and  the  stone  fixed  down. 
Then,  when  the  dusk  of  evening  had  come  on,  and  not  a 
sound  disturbed  the  sacred  stillness  of  the  place — when  the 
bright  moon  poured  in  her  light  on  tomb  and  monument, 
on  pillar,  wall,  and  arch,  and  most  of  all  (it  seemed  to  them) 
upon  her  quiet  grave — in  that  calm  time,  when  all  outward 
things  and  inward  thoughts  teem  with  assurance  of  immor- 
tality, and  worldly  hopes  and  fears  are  humbled  in  the  dust 
before  them — then,  with  tranquil  and  submissive  hearts  they 
turned  away,  and  left  the  child  with  God. 

Oh  I  it  is  hard  to  take  to  heart  the  lesson  that  such  deaths 


74  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

will  teach,  but  let  no  man  reject  it,  for  it  is  one  that  all  must 
learn,  and  is  a  mighty  universal  Truth.  When  Death  strikes 
down  the  innocent  and  young,  for  every  fragile  form  from 
which  he  lets  the  panting  spirit  free,  a  hundred  virtues  rise, 
in  shapes  of  mercy,  charity,  and  love,  to  walk  the  world, 
and  bless  it  with  their  light.  Of  every  tear  that  sorrowing 
mortals  shed  on  such  green  graves,  some  good  is  born,  some 
gentler  nature  conies.  In  the  Destroyer's  steps  there  spring 
up  bright  creations  that  defy  his  power,  and  his  dark  path 
becomes  a  way  of  light  to  Heaven. 


THE  PICKET-GUAKD. 

ANONYMOUS. 

"ALL  quiet  along  the  Potomac,"  the}-  say, 

"  Except  now  and  then  a  stray  picket 
Is  shot,  as  he  walks  on  his  beat,  to  and  fro, 

By  a  rifleman  hid  in  the  thicket. 
'Tis  nothing  :  a  private  or  two,  now  and  then, 

Will  not  count  in  the  news  of  the  battle  ; 
Not  an  officer  lost, — only  one  of  the  men, 

Moaning  out,  all  alone,  the  death  rattle." 

All  quiet  along  the  Potomac  to-night, 

Where  the  soldiers  lie  peacefully  dreaming : 

Their  tents,  in  the  rays  of  the  clear  autumn  moon, 
Or  the  light  of  the  watch-fires,  are  gleaming. 

A  tremulous  sigh,  as  the  gentle  night  wind 
Through  the  forest  leaves  softly  is  creeping  ; 

While  stars  up  above,  with  their  glittering  eyes, 
Keep  guard, — for  the  army  is  sleeping. 

There's  only  the  sound  of  the  lone  sentry's  tread 
As  he  tramps  from  the  rock  to  the  fountain. 

And  he  thinks  of  the  two  in  the  low  trundle-bed, 
Far  away  in  the  cot  on  the  mountain. 

His  musket  falls  slack  ;  his  face,  dark  and  grim, 
Grows  gentle  with  memories  tender, 


THE    POOR    MAX    AND    THE    FIEND.  75 

As  he  mutters  a  prayer  for  the  children  asleep, — 
For  their  mother, — may  Heaven  defend  her  ! 

The  moon  seems  to  shine  just  as  brightly  as  then, 

That  night  when  the  love  yet  unspoken 
Leaped  up  to  his  lips, — when  low,  murmured  vows 

Were  pledged  to  be  ever  unbroken, 
Then  drawing  his  sleeve  roughly  over  his  eyes, 

He  dashes  off  tears  that  are  welling, 
And  gathers  his  gun  closer  up  to  its  place, 

As  if  to  keep  down  the  heart-swelling. 

He  passes  the  fountain,  the  blasted  pine-tree, — 

The  foot-step  is  lagging  and  weary  ; 
Yet  onward  he  goes,  through  the  broad  belt  of  light, 

Toward  the  shades  of  the  forest  so  dreary. 
Hark !  was  it  the  night-wind  that  rustled  the  leaves  1 

Was  it  moonlight  so  wondrously  flashing  ? 
It  looked  like  a  rifle :  "  lla  !  Mary,  good-bye  !  " 

And  the  life-blood  is  ebbing  and  plashing. 

All  quiet  along  the  Potomac  to-night, — 

No  sound  save  the  rush  of  the  river  ; 
While  soft  falls  the  dew  on  the  face  of  the  dead, — 

The  picket's  off  duty  forever. 


THE  POOE  MAN  AND  THE  FIEND. 

REV.   MR.    MACLELLAN. 

A  FIEND  once  met  a  humble  man 

At  night,  in  the  cold  dark  street, 
And  led  him  into  a  palace  fair, 

Where  music  circled  sweet ; 
And  light  and  warmth  cheered  the  wanderer's  heart, 

From  frost  and  darkness  screened, 
Till  his  brain  grew  mad  beneath  the  joy, 

And  he  worshipped  before  the  Fiend. 


7fi  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

Ah  !   well  if  he  ne'er  had  knelt  to  that  Fiend, 

For  a  task-master  grim  was  he  ; 
And  he  said,  "  One-half  of  thy  life  on  earth 

I  enjoin  thee  to  yield  to  me  ; 
And  when,  from  rising  till  set  of  sun, 

Thou  hast  toiled  in  the  heat  or  snow, 
Let  thy  gains  on  mine  altar  an  offering  be  ;" 

And  the  poor  man  ne'er  said  "  No  !  " 

The  poor  man  had  health,  more  dear  than  gold  ; 

Stout  bone  and  niuscle  strong, 
That  neither  faint  nor  weary  grew, 

To  toil  the  June  day  long ; 
And  the  Fiend,  his  god,  cried  hoarse  and  loud, 

"  Thy  strength  thoti  must  forego, 
Or  thou  no  worshipper  art  of  mine  ;" 

And  the  poor  man  ne'er  said  "  No  !  " 

» 
Three  children  blest  the  poor  man's  home — 

Stray  angels  dropped  on  earth — 
The  Fiend  beheld  their  sweet  blue  eyes, 

And  he  laughed  in  fearful  mirth  : 
"  Bring  forth  thy  little  ones,"  quoth  he, 

"  My  godhead  wills  it  so ! 
I  want  an  evening  sacrifice  ;" 

And  the  poor  man  ne'er  said  "  No  !  " 

A  young  wife  sat  by  the  poor  man's  fire, 

Who,  since  she  blushed  a  bride, 
Had  gilded  his  sorrow,  and  brightened  his  joys 

His  guardian,  friend,  and  guide. 
Foul  fall  the  Fiend  !  he  gave  command. 

"  Come,  mix  the  cup  of  woe, 
Bid  thy  young  wife  drain  it  to  the  dregs  ;" 

And  the  poor  man  ne'er  said  "  No  !  " 

Oh  !  misery  now  for  this  poor  man  ! 

Oh  !  deepest  of  miser}* ! 
Next  the  Fiend  his  godlike  Reason  took, 

And  amongst  beasts  fed  he ; 


OUR  COUNTRY'S  CALL.  77 

And  when  the  sentinel  Mind  was  gone, 

He  pilfered  his  Soul  also  ; 
And — marvel  of  marvels  ! — he  murmured  not ; 

The  poor  man  ne'er  said  "  No  !  " 

Now,  men  and  matrons  in  your  prime, 

Children  and  grandsires  old, 
Come  listen,  with  soul  as  well  as  ear, 

This  saying  whilst  I  unfold  ; 
Oh,  listen  !  till  your  brain  whirls  round, 

And  your  heart  is  sick  to  think, 
That  in  England's  isle  all  this  befell, 

And  the  name  of  the  Fiend  was — DRINK  ! 


CUE  COUNTEY'S  CALL. 

WILLIAM   CULLEN  BKTANT. 

LAY  down  the  axe,  fling  by  the  spade  : 
.  Leave  in  its  track  the  toiling  plough  ; 
The  rifle  and  the  bayonet-blade 

For  arms  like  yours  were  fitter  now  ; 
And  let  the  hands  that  ply  the  pen 

Quit  the  light  task,  and  learn  to  wield 
The  horseman's  crooked  brand,  and  rein 

The  charger  on  the  battle-field. 

Our  country  calls  ;  away  !  away  ! 

To  where  the  blood-stream  blots  the  green. 
Strike  to  defend  the  gentlest  sway 

That  Time  in  all  its  course  has  seen. 
See,  from  a  thousand  coverts — see 

Spring  the  armed  foes  that  haunt  her  track ; 
They  rush  to  smite  her  down,  and  we 

Must  beat  the  banded  traitors  back. 

Ho !  sturdy  as  the  oaks  ye  cleave, 
And  moVcd  as  soon  to  fear  and  flight, 


78  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

Men  of  the  glade  and  forest !  leave 

Your  woodcraft  for  the  field  of  fight. 

The  arms  that  wield  the  axe  must  pour 
An  iron  tempest  on  the  foe ; 

His  serried  ranks  shall  reel  before 
The  arm  that  lays  the  panther  low. 

And  ye  who  breast  the  mountain  storm 

By  grassy  steep  or  highland  lake, 
Come,  for  the  land  ye  love,  to  form 

A  bulwark  that  no  foe  can  break. 
Stand,  like  your  own  grey  cliffs  that  mock 

The  whirlwind ;  stand  in  her  defence : 
The  blast  as  soon  shall  move  the  rock, 

As  rushing  squadrons  bear  ye  thence. 

And  ye,  whose  homes  are  by  her  grand 

Swift  rivers,  rising  far  away, 
Come  from  the  depths  of  her  green  land 

As  mighty  in  your  march  as  they  ; 
As  terrible  as  when  the  rains 

Have  swelled  them  over  bank  and  bourne 
With  sudden  floods  to  drown  the  plains 

And  sweep  along  the  woods  uptorn. 

And  ye  who  throng  beside  the  deep, 

Her  ports  and  hamlets  of  the  strand, 
In  number  like  the  waves  that  leap 

On  his  long  murmuring  marge  of  sand, 
Come,  like  that  deep,  when  o'er  his  brim 

He  rises,  all  his  floods  to  pour, 
And  flings  the  proudest  barks  that  swim 

A  helpless  wreck  against  his  shore. 

Few,  few  were  they  whose  swords  of  old 
Won  the  fair  land  in  which  we  dwell ; 

But  we  are  many,  we  who  hold 
Tho  grim  resolva  to  irnard  it  well. 


THE  ORPHAN'S  TRIUMPH.  79 

Strike  for  that  broad  and  goodly  land 

Blow  after  blow,  till  men  shall  see 
That  Might  and  Right  move  hand  in  hand, 

And  glorious  must  their  triumph  be. 


THE  ORPHAN'S  TRIUMPH. 

A  COLLOQUY  IN  THREE  SCENES. 

F.   B.   WILSON. 

Characters. 

AMY  HARTWELL,  the  Orphan, 

HATTIE  AINSWORTH,  AMY'S  friend, 

JANE  SANDERS, 

FANNIE  BLANCHARD, 

MRS.  AINSWORTH, 

MRS.  GRANTON,  a  heartless  widow. 

SCENE  I. — A -parlor.  Number  of  ladies  seated,  employed  in  various 
kinds  of  work.  MRS.  AINSWORTH,  Miss  HATTJE  AINSWORTH,  Miss 
JANE  SANDERS,  Miss  FANNIE  BLANCHARD,  MRS.  GRANTON,  and 
others. 

Miss  JANE  SANDERS.  What  an  excitement  Mr.  Hart- 
well's  failure  created  in  our  little  quiet  city  I  indeed  we  have 
hardly  gotten  over  the  shock  as  yet.  I  wonder  what  next 
will  take  place  to  cause  an  excitement.  I  do  think  it  is  so 
dull  here. 

Miss  FANNIE  BLANCHARD.  Such  incidents  as  that  do 
change  the  monotony  of  city  life.  But  I  wonder  what 
Miss  Hart  well  will  do  to  support  herself ;  she  is  so  young, 
has  never  done  any  work,  and  I  suppose  she  would  rather 
beg  than  work.  I  do  not  pity  her  in  the  least.  She  always 
appeared  to  esteem  herself  above  the  other  ladies  in  the 
city.  I  think  this  will  have  a  tendency  to  lower  her  pride. 

JANE.  She  has  kept  herself  very  close  dnco  her  father's 


80  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

failure.  I  wonder  if  she  thinks  any  one  will  sympathize  with 
her  ? 

MRS.  AIXSWORTH.  I  know  how  to  feel  for  her.  Left 
motherless  when  but  a  child,  her  whole  heart  was  filled 
with  love  to  her  kind  father.  His  failure  might  have 
caused  her  pain,  but  his  failure  and  his  death  must  well 
nigh  crush  her  young  spirit.  Hattie  has  been  to  see  her 
several  times  during  the  last  few  days,  but  'tis  hard  to  give 
consolation  in  an  hour  of  such  deep  sorrow. 

FAXXIE.  Yet  can  you  feel  pained  to  see  her  in  such  a  sit- 
uation ?  You  must  certainly  know  that  pride  is  the  cause 
of  this  great  sorrow. 

MRS.  AIXSWORTH.  Amy  is  not  proud.  She  is  too  pure, 
too  good,  too  innocent,  to  have  any  feeling  of  foolish  pride. 
You  know  her  not  when  you  say  that  pride  is  the  cause  of 
her  sorrow.  "Tis  the  love  she  bore  her  father.  When  he 
knew  of  his  failure  the  blow  was  so  severe  it  caused  his 
death.  Amy  is  now  alone  in  the  world.  Poor,  no  friends 
to  care  for  her,  none  to  love. 

MRS.  GRAXTOX.  It  seems  to  me  we  are  becoming  con- 
cerned in  the  welfare  of  those  we  hardly  know.  A  man 
fails !  a  man  dies !  and  all  the  city  comment.  Some  with 
feigned  pity,  some  with  joy.  Yet  few  that  pity  feel  the  force 
of  their  sayings.  Let  us  change  the  subject,  and  have  some- 
thing lively  to  intersperse  our  conversation.  I  for  one  am 
not  partial  to  subjects  that  call  forth  sorrowful  feelings. 
My  theory  is  the  theory  of  the  world  ;  a  man  fails  in  business 
and  he  loses  his  position  in  society,  and  he  takes  his  family 
with  him.  If  we  have  sought  their  society  prior  to  this,  we 
should  now  shun  it.  ( Walks  up  and  down  stage.)  Life  has  its 
ups  and  downs  ;  some  are  ever  joyful  and  ever  happy.  I 
hate  those  that  always  frown.  (Sings — leil  rings.) 

MRS.  AIXSWORTH.  The  tea  bell ;  come  ladies  all.  (Exeunt 
all  but  HATTIE  AIXSWORTH.) 

Miss  HATTIE  AIXSWORTII.  Must  I  believe  that  that  com- 
pany have  expressed  the  sentiments  of  the  place  ?  Is  there 
no  one  who  will  lend  a  helping  hand  to  my  d£ar  friend 


THE  ORPHAN'S  TRIUMPH.  81 

Amy  ?  Oh  !  what  a  heartless  world  is  this.  How  cruel ! 
how  cruel !  Yet  I  will  ever  be  her  friend.  I  will  ever  be 
near  to  assist  and  comfort  her.  Few  know  Amy  as  I  know 
her ;  few  feel  toward  her  as  I  do  ;  and  hand  in  hand  we  will 
travel  together.  One  thought  comes  :  "Will  it — will  it  change 
the  mind  of  him,  who,  a  short  time  ago  pledged  her  his 
love ;  and  then,  with  her  consent,  joined  the  ranks  of  the 
defenders  of  human  liberty.  Why  think  a  moment  of  this  ? 
He  cannot,  he  will  not  prove  false.  Poverty  may  be  her  lot, 
friends  may  fail  her,  yet  I  believe  Mr.  Branton  will  ever  be 

true. 

Enter  MRS.  GRANTON,  L. 

MRS.  GRANTON.  I  left  the  paper  here ;  I  came  to  get  it  to 
read  at  the  table.  "Why  do  you  not  come  to  tea,  Hattie, 
child  ? 

HATTIE.  I  feel  so  badly  when  I  think  of  poor  Amy  Hart- 
well.  Mrs.  Granton,  you  know  not  how  much  I  love  her. 

MRS.  GRANTON.  Why  let  her  misfortune  trouble  you? 
How  foolish  you  are.  (Laughs.)  Just  drop  her  name  from 
your  list  of  acquaintances — think  no  more  of  her.  (Aside.) 
What  strange  people  there  are  in  this  world.  Some  would 
spend  their  whole  life  in  weeping,  I  really  believe ;  but  I 
am  not  one  of  the  number.  No !  no !  Catch  me  crying  and 
mourning  because  one  friend  dies.  Why,  when  my  husband 
died,  I  never  shed  a  single  tear ;  yet  I  pitied  the  poor  man. 
He  is  the  only  husband  I  ever  had,  but  I  think  that  I  may 
get  another  yet.  (Sighs.)  Some  ladies  get  married  that  are 
older  than  I.  When  I  think  of  my  poor  husband  I  -cannot 
but  laugh,  he  was  so  peculiar.  He  used  often  ask  me  if  I 
was  entirely  heartless.  Just  as  though  there  was  such  a 
thing  as  a  heart.  Ho  well  knew  that  I  was  determined  to 
"have  my  own  way,  and  coaxing  and  persuasion  couldn't 
move  me.  My  advice  to  all  married  ladies  is — let  your  hus- 
band know  who's  mistress.  (Turns  to  HATTIE.)  What,  Hattie, 
crying  ?  Some  people  always  cry  when  they  would  laugh  ; 
perhaps  'tis  so  with  Hattie.  (Belt  rings.)  The  tea  bell  rings 
again ;  come,  Hattie  !  (Exit.) 


82  RECITATIONS   AND    DIALOGUES. 

HATTIE.  I  am  alone  again  ;  how  I  dread  that  woman's 
presence.  How  different  is  she  from  my  mother !  Amy 
claims  all  my  thoughts  at  present.  (Bell  rings.}  The  door 
bell.  Would  that  Amy  is  the  one  ushered  in. 

Door  opens.    Enter  A:HY.    J&ribracc. 

Miss  AMY  HARTWELL.  I  have  come  to  see  you,  Hattie,  at 
last.  This  is  the  first  time  I  have  been  from  home  since  dear 
pa's  death.  Oh  !  how  blank,  how  blank  appears  the  world 
to  me.  My  heart  is  bowed  down  with  grief.  To  you  alone 
can  I  come  for  consolation.  Do  you  know,  Hattie,  that  you 
are  the  only  one  that  has  called  and  spoken  kind  words  to 
me  since  pa's  death.  To  you  would  I  confide  all  at  this 
time.  You  will  not  forsake  me,  will  you,  Hattie  ? 

HATTIE.  Dearest  Amy,  nothing  can  sever  my  love  for  you. 
Dearer  are  you  now  than  ever.  Tell  me  anything,  every- 
thing, and  if  I  can  aid  you  in  any  manner,  gladly  will  I 
assist  you  all  in  my  power. 

AMY.  My  father's  creditors  will  take  everything.  Yet 
pa's  lawyer  tells  me  that  all  his  debts  can  .  be  paid  and  my 
piano,  library,  etc.,  will  not  be  taken  from  me.  I  am  glad 
to  think  that  no  one  will  suffer  but  myself.  Every  dollar  of 
pa's  debts  will  be  paid.  Now,  Hattie,  I  must  do  something 
to  support  myself.  I  can  teach  music,  French,  and  paint- 
ing, and  I  want  you  to  assist  me  in  getting  up  classes.  I 
must  go  at  work  at  once. 

HATTIE.  You  need  not  teach,  Amy  ;  ma  has  told  me  to 
have  you  come  and  live  with  me.  You  know  I  intimated  it 
to  you  yesterday. 

-  AMY.  I  could  not  be  happy,  Hattie,  feeling  that  I  was  a 
dependent.  I  will  stay  with  you  for  a  short  time,  but  I  am 
determined  to  support  myself.  You  are  very  kind.  My 
truest  and  best  friend.  God  will  reward  you  if  I  never 
can. 

HATTIE.  I  cannot  bear  the  idea  of  your  teaching,  Amy. 
Come  and  live  with  me,  and  we  will  talk  of  this  again. 


THE  ORPHAN'S  TKIUMPH.  83 

God  does  nothing  worng.  (AMY  leans  her  head  on  HATTIE'S 
shoulder.}    He  will  ever  be  our  friend. 

CURTAIX. 

"  SCENE  II. — Same  as  Scene  I.     AMY  seated  alone. 

AMY.  'Tis  now  six  months  since  dear  pa  died.  All  who 
were  proud  to  call  me  their  friend  then,  have  deserted  me, 
except  dear  Mrs.  Airisworth  and  Hattie ;  never  could  I  for- 
get their  kindness.  My  income  from  my  classes  makes  me 
a  comfortable  living.  Yet  there  is  a  blank  that  cannot  be 
filled.  I  wonder  why  it  is  that  he  does  not  write.  Strange  ! 
I  have  written  several  letters  and  received  no  answer.  Can 
it  be  that  he  will — Xo  !  I  will  not  think  it.  Yet  his  name 
has  not  appeared  on  the  list  of  wounded  or  killed  after  any 
battle.  What  can  it  mean  ?  God  grant  that  he  may  yet 
live  !  May  he  be  sustained  and  preserved  by  that  all-wise 
Being. 

Enter  MRS.  AINSWORTH,  L. 

MRS.  AIXSWORTII.  You  will  try  and  be  back  from  your 
classes  early  to-day,  will  you  not,  Amy  ?  I  expect  the  Misses 
Sanders  and  Blanchard  at  tea  this  afternoon,  also,  Mrs. 
Grant  on. 

AMY.  I  do  not  believe  that  any  of  them  would  care  for 
my  company.  Not  one  of  them  will  recognize  me  in  the 
street  when  I  meet  them  ;  so  you  will  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Ains- 
worth,  if  I  should  not  be  back  in  time  to  see  them  ? 

MRS.  AINSWORTII.  I  did  not  know,  Amy,  that  this  was  the 
case  ;  but  act  your  own  pleasure.  I  would  like  to  see  you 
go  in  society  more  than  you  do.  You  will  wear  yourself 
out  with  your  weary  labors. 

AMY.  Society  has  no  charms  for  me  now ;  my  thoughts 
are  far  away.  Yes,  Mrs.  Amsworth,  you  know  what  I  would 
say.  Mystery  surrounds  me  on  every  hand.  Good  morn- 
ing, my  dear  protector.  (Kisses  her.  Exit.} 

MRS.  AIXSWORTH.  There  goes  one  whose  heart  is  pure, 
innocent,  and  yet  troubled.  Her  affection  is  so  deep,  so 


84  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

earnest,  who  could  help  loving  her ':  Yes,  I  know  what  she 
would  say.  A  lover's  long 'silence  causes  her  deep  grief. 
Can  it  be  that  he  will  leave  her  ?  Can  it  be  that  money 
taught  him  to  love  Amy  Hartwell  ?  I  will  not  believe  it. 
He,  too,"  was  noble,  generous,  and  brave.  Like  many  other 
noble  young  men,  he  went  to  battle  for  the  preservation  of 
right;  and  to  uphold  his  country's  banner  unstained. 
Wealth,  friends  and  luxury  surrounded  him  on  every  hand ; 
yet  he  could  not  resist  his  country's  call.  All  honor  to  the 
battle- worn  heroes,  who  are  now  suffering  that  the  nation 
may  live.  I  trust  that  the  hand  which  leads  the  armies 
forth  to  battle,  which  sustains  the  weary  soldiers,  will  still 
guide  him  and  restore  him  to  his  loved  home  in  safety.  (Exit.) 

Enter  JANE  SANDERS  and  FANNIE  BLANCHARD.     Come   to  front  of 
stage. 

JAXE.  How  well  our  little  plot  has  succeeded!  Little 
does  she  think  that  I  have  been  receiving  and  reading  the 
letters  written  to  and  by  her.  But  I  fear  I  shall  not  have 
the  pleasure  of  reading  any  more  of  them,  for  it  is  now 
nearly  two  months  since  he  has  written. 

FAXXIE.  You  have  been  successful,  truly.  During  niy 
absence  from  the  city,  you  gave  me  to  understand  in  your 
letters  that  our  plot  was  successful ;  yet  you  did  not  tell  me 
all  the  particulars  connected  with  it.  I  cannot  understand 
it  all.  How  did  you  manage  to  intercept  her  letters. 

JAXE.  My  cousin,  you  know,  is  assistant  postmaster.  I 
let  him  into  the  secret.  I  told  him  that  any  letters  Amy 
Hartwell  sent  to  Mr.  Branton  must  not  leave  the  office  ; 
and  also,  all  letters  that  came  to  her  from  him  must  be 
handed  to  me.  Wasn't  it  splendid  ?  I  have  had  the  benefit 
of  all  their  correspondence,  free  gratis.  (Laughs.)  I  think  it 
will  prove  very  beneficial  to  me  in  my  epistolary  corres- 
pondence hereafter.  Good  practical  hints,  you  know  ? 

FAXXIE.  Indeed  they  will  be !  Now  you  must  let  me  read 
them  some  time.  I  shall  enjoy  it  very  much.  But  Jane, 


THE  ORPHAN'S  TRIUMPH.  8.3 

have  you  any  reason  to  feel  encouraged  in.  this  matter.  Do 
you  really  think  Mr.  Bran  ton  will  forget  her  ? 

JANE.  Oh !  yes ;  I  can  see  my  way  clear,  though  he  wrote 
some  very  nice  letters  to  Miss  Hartwell  after  the  news  of 
her  father's  failure  reached  him.  But  you  know,  Fannie,  he 
never  could  marry  her  now.  Just  think  ;  a  poor  teacher  ; 
Mr.  Braiitoii  would  iucir  »toap  no  /.-/>/•. 

FANNIE.  I  always  thought  that  he  used  to  be  quite  partial 
to  you.  I  am  glad  you  have  succeeded  so  well.  I  wonder 
where  Miss  Amy  is  to-day?  Mrs.  Ainsworth  has  taken  an 
especial  interest  in  her  welfare,  it  seems  to  me. 

JANE.  Yes  ;  I  wonder  at  it ;  and  Hattie  is  quite  doting.  I 
do  not  like  it  at  all ;  shall  speak  with  Hattie  to-day.  She 
,  will  certainly  lose  the  respect  of  her  associates  if  she  con- 
tinues to  show  so  much  favor  to  Amy  Hartwell. 

Enter  MRS.  AINSWORTH  and  GRANTON,  L. 

MRS.  GRANTON.  Enjoying  yourselves  I  suppose,  girls  ? 
That's  right.  I  don't  wonder  you  seek  a  quiet  place.  Girls 
will  be  girls.  Nor  will  they  ever  trust  their  love  secrets 
with  a  widow.  Why  is  it  ? 

JANE.  Cannot  you  answer  the  question,  Mrs.  Graiiton  ? 
Truly,  there  must  be  a  reason,  but  I  cannot  tell  it. 

MRS.  GRANTON.  (LaitgJus.]  Because  she  knows  too  much. 
Love  !  nonsense  !  pooh  !  Ask  Mrs.  Ainsworth  to  define  it ; 
she  will  tell  you  'tis  but  the  wild  dreams  of  foolish  maidens. 
A  mere  fancy. 

MRS.  AiNSWORTn.  Your  experience  ?i?  life,  Mrs.  Granton, 
and  mine  are  very  different.  The  true  woman  loves  her 
husband  devotedly  ;  words  fail  to  describe  it. 

MRS.  GRANTON.  Well,  I'll  not  argue ;  I  don't  like  to 
trouble  my  brain  enough  for  that.  But  you  do  remind  me 
of  some  of  the  characters  represented  in  the  current  litera- 
ture of  the  day.  A  fancied  idea  existing  in  the  brain  of 
some  poor  author ;  all  delusion.  Why  should  we  pretend 
tc  feel  sad  when  we  are  joyous.  Only  the  next  evening  after 
my  husband's  death  I  attended  a  ball.  What  a  magnificent 


86  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

time  we  had.  I  almost  wished  he  were  there  to  enjoy  it. 
(Laughs.}  Foolish  wish,  wasn't  it  ?  He  is  undoubtedly  bet- 
ter off;  he  has  now  no  wife  to  quarrel  with  him  ;  and  she 
has  no  husband  to  pester  her.  (Laughs.} 

Enter  HATTIE  AINS WORTH,  L. 

FANNIE.  Has  Miss  Hartwell  returned  from  her  classes  ? 

HATTIE.  -I  think  not ;  she  does  not  return  until  late,  gen- 
erally. Her  classes  keep  her  very  busy  during  the  week. 
Saturday  and  the  Sabbath  are  the  only  days  she  has  for 
rest,  poor  girl ! 

JANE.  Why  should  you  feel  so  badly  on  her  account  ?  She 
ought  feel  very  grateful  for  what  you  have  already  done. 

HATTIE.  She  does  feel  grateful ;  and  many  a  little  kind- 
ness,  many  a  gentle  word,  many  a  sweet  whisper  assures  me 
that  she  does  not  forget,  nor  fail  to  duly  appreciate  every 
kindness  or  look  she  receives  from  me. 

MRS.  GRANTON.  Come,  Hattie,  let  us  go  into  the  parlor  and 
have  some  music.  (Aside.)  Anything  to  change  the  subject. 
(Aloud.)  Perhaps  we  may  have  some  dancing,  too  ;  yet  that 
would  be  dry  without  some  gentlemen.  But  when  I  attend- 
ed boarding  school,  I  was  sent  to  an  institution  composed 
exclusively  of  young  ladies,  and  we  used  to  have  some  jolly 
•dances,  though  our  partners  were  ladies.  (Exeunt  all.  MRS. 
GRANTON  comes  lack.) 

MRS.  GRANTON.  And  I  forgot  my  fan  ;  just  like  me.  Mr. 
Havner  passed  along  the  street,  too.  Had  I  my  fan  I  might 
have  displayed  my  diamond  ring,  but — well — I  will  not 
trouble  my  poor  brain  about  the  dear  man.  Husbands  are 
a  nuisance,  but  lovers  are — are — are — I  can't  think  what  it 
is — Oh  !  yes — they're  fools.  (Exit.) 

CURTAIN. 

SCENE  III.  —  Same    cs    Scene  I.    and  II.       TJwee   years    interval. 
FANNIE  and  JANE  standing  near  each  other. 

JAJSTE.  Yesterday  the  gallant  regiment  returned,  but  he 


THE  ORPHAN'S  TRIUMPH.  87 

did  not  come.  Why  is  this  ?  Many  others  have  been  struck 
down,  yet  his  name  has  never  entered  the  fatal  list. 

FAXXIE.  He  may  have  been  promoted ;  possibly  he  does 
not  now  belong  to  the  regiment  ?  Perhaps  he  has  no  desire 
to  return  to  the  city  again ;  but  has  gone  to  seek  another 
home  ? 

JANE.  I  know  not  what  to  think.  I  have  not  questioned 
any  of  the  soldiers  as  yet,  concerning  his  welfare ;  nor  do  I 
think  I  shall.  Oh  !  I  hate  the  looks  of  those  faded  blue 
jackets.  How  different  do  the  boys  appear  than  they  did 
when  they  went  from  home. 

FAXXIE.  I  do  not  believe,  Jane,  that  I  shall  ever  associate 
with,  them  again.  They  are  so  tanned,  some  of  them  have 
received  such  ugly  wounds,  I  cannot  endure  them  at  all. 
But  we  made  a  grand  display  when  they  returned,  didn't  we  ? 

JAXE.  I  had  a  gay  time  that  day. 

Enter,  unperceived  by  them,  HATTIE,  I*, 

I  expected  to  see  Mr.  Brartton ;  had  a  splendid  bouquet 
made  expressly  for  him. 

FAXXIE.  Have  you  heard  anything  directly  from  him 
lately  ? 

JAXE.  Well,  no,  not  exactly  direct.  But  he  writes,  or— 
that  is — he  did  write  to  my  cousin  ;  always  sent  some  mis- 
sive to  me,  you  know.  I  have  certainly  gained  one  point  if 
I  have  lost  another ;  though  he  may  never  call  me  wife,  I 
am  sure  that  Miss  Amy  will  never  be  more  to  him  than  she 
now  is. 

FAXXIE.  What  a  funny  little  plot  we  made  ?  Who  would 
have  thought  that  we  had  such  inventive  brains  ?  Couldn't 
we  make  quite  a  story  of  it,  Jane  V  All  that  is  now  neces^ 
sary  to  make  the  story  read  well,  is,  for  Mr.  Branton  to 
return  and  marry  you.  We  could  give  our  story  that  old 
name,  "Pride  must  have  a  fall."  The  letters  that  you  inter- 
cepted would  be  an  exhibition  of  true  love,  you  know. 
Amy's  circumstances  are  a  little  too  pleasant  to  make  the 
story  real  interesting,  but  we  could  fix.  that  all  right. 


88  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

HATTIE.  (Aside.)  I — I  know  it  all.  The  secret — the  plot 
is  now  known  to  me.  I  will  go,  and  if  possible,  make  Amy 
happy  yet.  (Exit.} 

Enter  MRS.  GRANTON,  R. 

Mns.  GRANTOX.  Quite  exciting  times  we  had  yesterday  ? 
How  patriotic  are  the  ladies  of  this  city  !  Everybody  says 
so.  (Laughs.)  How  many  covered  their  eyes,  not  to  restrain 
the  tears,  for  no  traces  of  tears  could  be  found  there,  but  to 
make  others  think  they  could  not  be  comforted.  I  thought 
they  all  enjoyed  themselves  hugely  at  the  dance  last  evening. 
Didn't  we  have  a  grand  time,  girls  ?  Widower  Panson  was 
positively  charmed  with  me. 

JANE.  Would  that  a  regiment  would  return  every  week,  if 
such  pleasant  scenes  would  take  place  ! 

MRS.  GRAXTON.  Then  we  get  so  many  compliments  for  our 
patriotism  1  so  many  good  wishes ;  but  I  must  go.  I  have 
some  shopping  to  which  I  must  attend.  (A*ide.)  There  is  such 
a  splendid  clerk  in  the  corner  store,  he  is  just — just — well,  if 
you  knew  him  you  would  not  deny  it. 

JAXE.  We  will  accompany  you.  (Exeunt  ally  R.) 

Enter  AMY,  L. 

AMY.  Though  troubled,  weary  and  care-worn,  time  seems 
to  pass  with  wonderful  rapidity.  Weeks,  months,  and  years 
have  rolled  away  since  last  I  met  him.  A  long  silence  un- 
broken remains.  Oh !  that  my  terrible  doubts  were  dis- 
pelled !  Can  it  be  that  he  has  perished  ?  Can  it  be  that  his 
life  was  required  for  the  establishment  of  freedom  and  union  ? 
Or  has  he  deserted  me  ?  I  know  I  am  not  worthy  of  him  ;  I 
know  he  is  noble,  and  that  he  will  become  honored.  Why 
did  he  not  write  me  and  tell  me  to  think  no  more  of  him  ? 
Why  has  he  not  come  with  the  regiment  ?  Who  can  answer 
these  questions  ?  Who  can  disperse  my  doubts  ?  WTiere  is 
Hattie  at  this  time  ?  She  perhaps  can — no  !  no  !  none  can 
solve  the  mystery.  A  thought ;  come,  I  will  write  to  the 
commanding  oSicer  of  tho  regiment,  and,  if  possible,  learn 


POEM    AT    GETTYSBURG.  89- 

where  lie  is ;  this  is  my  last  hope,   this  will  forever  dispel 
my  anxiety.     I  tremble  to  think  of  it,  yet— 

Enter  HATTIE,  R. 

HATTIE.  I  have  good  news  for  you,  Amy.  The  story  is 
a  long  one,  but  I  will  try  to  be  brief.  (Takes  both  AMY'S  hands 
in  her  own.)  I  have  been  to  see  the  Colonel  of  the  regiment, 
and  have  learned  that  Mr.  Branton  is  still  alive,  still  loves 
you.  He  has  been  on  detached  service  much  of  the  time 
and  none  of  your  letters  have  reached  him.  I  overheard  the 
Misses  Sanders  and  Blanchard  talking  this  morning,  and 
learned  from  them  that  they  had  intercepted  both  your  let- 
ters and  his.  'Twas  a  deep,  dark  plot,  but  I  rejoice  with 
you  to-night,  that  their  scheme  was  fruitless  and  that  Mr. 
Branton  is  still  true. 

AMY.  I  cannot  tell  you,  Hattie,  the  deep,  pure  joy  that  fills 
my  soul.  Yes,  I  am  happy  to-night,  and  I  can  truly  say 
that  I  forgive  the  plotters  their  dreadful  wrong,  and  now 
leave  them  to  make  their  peace  with  God. 

CURTAIN. 


POEM  BEAD  AT  THE  FOUNDING  OF  GETTYS- 
BURG MONUMENT. 

COLONEL   C.    G.    HALPINE    (MILES   o'REILLEY). 

As  men  beneath  some  pang  of  grief, 

Or  sudden  joy  will  dumbly  stand, 

Finding  no  words  to  give  relief 

Clear,  passion- warm,  complete  and  brief 

To  thoughts  with  which  their  souls  expand, 

So  here  to-day,  those  trophies  nigh, 

No  fitting  words  our  lips  can  reach  ; 

The  hills  around,  the  graves,  the  sky, 

The  silent  poem  of  the  eye, 

Surpasses  all  the  art  of  speech  ! 


90  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

To-day  a  nation  meets  to  build 

A  nation's  trophy  to  the  dead, 

Who,  living,  formed  her  sword  and  shield, 

The  arms  she  sadly  learned  to  wield. 

When  other  hope  of  peace  had  fled  ; 

And  not  alone  for  those  who  be 

In  honored  graves  before  us  blest, 

Shall  our  proud  column,  broad  and  high, 

Climb  upward  to  the  blessing  sky, 

But  be  for  all  a  monument. 

An  emblem  of  our  grief  as  well 
For  others,  as  for  these,  we  raise ; 
For  these  beneath  our  feet  who  dwell, 
And  all  who  in  the  good  cause  fell, 
On  other  fields  in  other  frays. 
To  all  the  self-same  love  we  bear 
Which  here  for  marblel  memory  strives  ; 
No  soldier  for  a  wreath  would  care, 
Which  all  true  comrades  might  not  share, 
Brothers  in  death  as  in  their  lives. 

On  Southern  hill-sides,  parched  and  brown, 
In  tangled  swamps,  on  verdant  ridge, 
Where  pines  and  broadening  oaks  look  down, 
And  jasmine  weaves  its  yellow  crown, 
And  trumpet  creepers  clothe  the  hedge, 
Along  the  shores  of  endless  sand. 
Beneath  the  palms  of  Southern  plains, 
Sleep  everywhere,  hand  locked  in  hand, 
The  brothers  of  the  gallant  band 
Who  here  poured  life  though  throbbing  veins. 

Around  the  closing  eyes  of  all, 
The  same  red  glories  glared  and  flew ; 
The  hurrying  flags,  the  bugle  call, 
The  whistle  of  the  angry  ball, 
The  elbow-touch  of  comrade  true, 
The  ski  raish  fire,  a  spattering  spray, 


POEM    AT    GETTYSBURG.  91 

The  long  sharp  growl  of  fire  by  file, 
The  thick'ning  fury  of  the  fray 
When  opening  batteries  get  in  play, 
And  the  lines  form  o'er  many  a  mile. 

The  foeman's  yell,  our  answering  cheer, 
Red  flashes  though  the  gathering  smoke, 
Swift  orders,  resonant  and  clear, 
Blithe  cries  from  comrades,  tried  and  dear, 
The  shell-scream  and  the  sabre  stroke, 
The  volley  fire,  from  left  to  right, 
From  right  to  left,  we  hear  it  swell, 
The  headlong  charges,  swift  and  bright, 
The  thickening  tumult  of  the  fight, 
And  bursting  thunders  of  the  shell. 

Now  closer,  denser,  grows  the  strife, 
And  here  we  yield,  and  there  we  gain ; 
The  air  with  hunting  missiles  rife, 
Volley  for  volley,  life  for  life  ; 
No  time  to  heed  the  cries  of  pain. 
Panting,  as  up.  the  hills  we  charge, 
Or  down  them  as  we  broken  roll, 
Life  never  felt  so  high,  so  large, 
And  never  o'er  so  wide  a  range 
In  triumph  swept  the  kindling  soul. 

New  raptures  waken  in  the  breast, 
Amid  this  hell  of  scene  and  sound, 
The  barking  batteries  never  rest, 
And  broken  foot,  by  horsemen  pressed, 
Still  stubbornly  contest  their  ground  ; 
Fresh  waves  of  battle  rolling  in, 
To  take  the  place  of  shattered  waves  ; 
Torn  lines  that  grow  more  bent  and  thin, 
A  blinding  cloud,  a  maddening  din, 
'Twas  then  we  filled  these  very  graves. 
******** 
Night  falls  at  length  with  pitying  veil, 


92  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOG*. £8. 

A  moonlit  silence,  deep  and  fresh. 

These  upturned  faces,  stained  and  pale, 

Vainly  the  chill  night  dews  assail ; 

Far  colder  than  the  dews  their  flesh. 

And  flickering  far,  through  brush  and  wood, 

Go  searching  parties,  torch  in  hand. 

Seize  if  you  can  some  rest  and  food, 

At  dawn  the  fight  will  be  renewed, 

"  Sleep  on  arms  !  "  the  hushed  command. 

They  talk  in  whispers  as  (hey  lie 

In  line,  these  rough  and  weary  men. 

"  Dead  or  but  wounded  7  ''  then  a  sigh  ; 

"  No  coffin  either  ?  "     '  Guess  we'll  try    • 

To  get  those  two  guns  back  again." 

"  We've  five  flags  to  their  one,  oho  !  " 

"  That  bridge  !     'Twas  not  there  as  we  passed;" 

"  The  Colonel  dead  ?     It  can't  be  ho. 

Wounded,  badly,  that  I  know. 

But  he  kept  saddle  to  the  last." 

c:  Be  sure  to  send  it  if  I  fall  ;" 

"  Any  tobacco  1  Bill,  have  you  1  " 

"  A  brown-hair'd,  blue-eyed,  laughing  doll ;" 

"Good-night,  boys,  and  .God  keep  you.  all." 

"  What,  sound  asleep  ]  Guess  Fli  sleep  too.'* 

"  Aye,  just  about  this  hour  they  pray 

For  dad."     "  Stop  talking,  pass  the  word ;" 

And  soon  as  quite  as  the  clay 

Which  thousands  will  but  be  next  day, 

The  long-drawn  sighs  of  sleep  are  heard. 


Oh  !  men.  to  whom  this  sketch,  though  rude, 
Calls  back  some  scene  of  pain  and  pride  ; 
Oh!  widow,  hugging  close  your  brood, 
Oh  !  wife,  with  happiness  renewed, 
Since  he  again  is  at  your  side; 


POEM    AT    GETTYSBURG.  93 

This  trophy  that  to-day  we  raise 
Should  be  a  monument  for  all, 
And  on  its  side  no  niggard  phrase 
Confine  a  generous  nation's  praise 
To  those  who  here  have  chanced  to  fall. 

But  let  us  all  to-day  combine 

Still  other  monuments  to  rise  ; 

Here  for  the  dead  we  build  a  shrine, 

And  now  to  those  who  crippled  pine 

Let  us  give  hope  of  happier  days. 

Let  homes  of  those  sad  wrecks  of  war 

Through  all  the  land  with  speed  arise ;  . 

They  cry  from  every  gaping  scar, 

"  Let  not  our  brother's  tomb  debar 

The  wounded  living  from  your  eyes." 

A  noble  day,  a  deed  as  good, 

A  noble  scene  in  which  'tis  done, 

The  birth-day  of  our  nationhood, 

And  here  again  the  nation  stood, 

On  this  same  day  its  life  renown. 

A  bloom  of  banners  in  the  air, 

A  double  calm  of  sky  and  soul, 

Triumphal  chant  and  bugle  blare, 

And  green  fields  spreading  bright  and  fair, 

As  heavenward  our  hosannas  roll. 

Hosannas  for  a  land  redeemed, 
The  bayonet  sheathed,  the  cannon  dumb ; 
Passed  as  some  horror  we  have  dreamed, 
The  fiery  meteors  that  here  streamed, 
Threat'ning  within  our  homes  to  come. 
Again  our  banner  floats  abroad, 
Gone  the  one  stain  that  on  it  fell ; 
And  bettered  by  his  cliast'ning  rod, 
With  streaming  eyes  uplift  to  God, 
We  say,  "  He  doeth  all  things  well." 


94  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 


SP'AKTACUS  TO  THE  GLADIATORS. 


IT  had  been  a  day  of  triumph  at  Capua.  Lentulus,  return- 
ing with  victorious  eagles,  had  amused  the  populace  with 
the  sports  of  the  amphitheatre  to  an  extent  hitherto  un- 
known, even  in  that  luxurious  city.  The  shouts  of  revel- 
ry had  died  away ;  the  roar  of  the  lion  had  ceased  ;  the 
last  loiterers  had  retired  from  the  banquet ;  and  the  lights 
in  the  palace  of  the  victor  were  extinguished.  The  moon, 
piercing  the  tissue  of  fleecy  clouds,  silvered  the  dew-drops  on 
the  cofslet  of  the  Roman  sentinel  and  tipped  the  dark  waters 
of  Yulturnus  with  a  wavy,  tremulous  light. 

No  sound  was  heard  save  the  last  sob  of  some  retiring 
wave,  telling  its  story  to  the  smooth  pebbles  of  the  beach ; 
and  then  all  was  still  as  the  breast  when  the  spirit  has  de- 
parted. In  the  deep  recesses  of  the  amphitheatre,  a  band 
of  gladiators  assembled  ;  their  muscles  still  knotted  with  the 
agony  of  conflict,  the  foam  upon  their  lips,  the  scowl  of 
battle  yet  lingering  on  their  brows  ;  when  Spartacus,  start- 
ing forth  from  amid  the  throng,  thus  addressed  them  : — "  Ye 
call  me  chief,  and  ye  do  well  to  call  him  chief  who,  for  twelve 
long  years,  has  met  upon  the  arena  every  shape  of  man  or 
beast  the  broad  empire  of  Home  could  furnish,  and  who 
never  yet  lowered  his  arm.  If  there  be  one  among  you  who 
can  say  that  ever,  in  public  fight  or  private  brawl,  my  actions 
did  belie  my  tongue,  let  him  stand  forth  and  say  it.  If 
there  be  three  in  all  your  company  dare  face  me  on  the 
bloody  sands,  let  them  conie  on.  And  yet  I  was  not  always 
thus, — a  hired  butcher,  a  savage  chief  of  still  more  savage 
men!  My  ancestors  came  from  old  Sparta,  and  settled 
among  the  vine-clad  rocks  and  citron  groves  of  Syrasella. 
My  early  life  ran  quiet  as  the  brooks  by  which  I  sported  ; 
and  when  at  noon  I  gathered  the  sheep  beneath  the  shade, 
and  played  upon  the  shepherd's  flute,  there  was  a  friend,  the 
son  of  n  neighbor,  to  join  mo  in  the  pastime.  We  led 


SPARTACUS    TO    THE    GLADIATORS.  95 

our  flocks  to  the  same  pasture,  and  partook  together  our 
rustic  meal.  One  evening,  after  the  sheep  were  folded,  and 
we  were  all  seated  beneath  the  myrtle  which  shaded  our 
cottage,  my  graiidsire,  an  old  man,  was  telling  of  Ma- 
rathon and  Leuctra ;  and  how,  in  ancient  times,  a  little 
band  of  Spartans,  in  a  defile  of  the  mountains,  had 
withstood  a  whole  army.  I  did  not  then  know  what  war 
was  ;  but  my  cheeks  burned,  I  knew  not  why  ;  and  I  clasped 
the  knees  of  that  venerable  man,  until  my  mother,  parting 
the  hair  from  off  my  forehead,  kissed  my  throbbing  temples, 
and  bade  me  go  to  rest,  and  think  110  more  of  those  old  tales 
and  savage  wars.  That  very  night  the  Romans  landed  on 
our  coast.  I  saw  the  breast  that  had  nourished  me,  trampled 
by  the  hoof  of  the  war-horse  ;  the  bleeding  body  of  my  father 
flung  amidst  the  blazing  rafters  of  our  dwelling !  To-day  I 
killed  a  man  in  the  arena ;  and  when  I  broke  his  helmet 
clasps,  behold  it  was  my  friend.  He  knew  me,  smiled  faintly, 
gasped,  and  died ;  the  same  sweet  smile  upon  his  lips  that  I 
had  marked,  when,  in  adventurous  boyhood,  we  scaled  the 
lofty  cliff  to  pluck  the  first  ripe  grapes,  and  bear  them  home  in 
childish  triumph.  I  told  the  praetor  that  the  dead  man  had 
been  my  friend,  generous  and  brave,  and  I  begged  that  I 
might  bear  away  the  body,  to  burn  it  on  a  funeral  pile,  . 
and  mourn  over  its  ashes.  Ay !  upon  my  knees,  amid  the 
dust  and  blood  of  the  arena,  I  begged  that  poor  boon,  while 
all  the  assembled  maids  and  matrons,  and  the  holy  virgins 
they  call  vestals,  and  the  rabble  shouted  in  derision ; 
deeming  it  rare  sport,  forsooth,  to  see  Home's  fiercest  gladia- 
tor turn  pale  and  tremble  at  the  sight  of  that  piece  of  bleed- 
ing clay  ! 

And  the  praetor  drew  back  as  if  I  were  pollution,  and  sternly 
said  : — Let  the  carrion  rot ;  there  are  no  noble  men  but  Ro- 
mans !  And  so,  fellow-gladiators,  must  you,  and  so  must  I, 
die  like  dogs.  Oh,  Rome,  Rome !  thou  hast  been  a  tender 
nurso  to  me  ;  ay,  thou  hast  given  to  that  poor,  gentle,  timid 
shepherd  lad,  who  never  knew  a  harsher  tone  than  a  flute 
note,  muscles  of  iron  and  a  heart  of  flint ;  taught  him  to 


96  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

drive  the  sword  through  plated  mail  and  links  of  rugged  brass, 
and  warm  it  in  the  marrow  of  his  foe  ;  to  gaze  into  the  glar- 
ing eyeballs  of  the  fierce  Numidian  lion,  even  as  a  boy  upon 
a  laughing  girl  I  And  he  shall  pay  thee  back,  until  the  yel- 
low Tiber  is  red  as  frothing  wine,  and  in  its  deepest  ooze, 
thy  life  blood  lies  curdled  ! 

"  Ye  stand  here  now  like  giants,  as  ye  are.  The  strength  of 
brass  is  in  your  toughened  sinews ;  but  to-morrow  some 
Roman  Adonis,  breathing  sweet  perfume  from  his  curly  locks, 
shall  with  his  lily  fingers  pat  your  red  brawn  and  bet  his 
sesterces  upon  your  blood.  Hark  !  hear  ye  yon  lion  roaring 
in  his  den  ^  'Tis  three  days  since  he  tasted  flesh  ;  but  to- 
morrow he  shall  break  his  fast  upon  yours,  and  a  dainty 
meal  for  him  ye  will  be !  If  ye  are  beasts  then  stand  here 
like  fat  oxen,  waiting  for  the  butcher's  knife  !  If  ye  are  men 
follow  me !  Strike  down  your  guard,  gain  the  mountain 
passes,  and  there  do  bloody  work,  as  did  your  sires  at  old 
Thermopylae !  Is  Sparta  dead  ?  Is  the  old  Grecian  spirit 
frozen  in  your  veins,  that  you  do  crouch  and  cower  like  a 
belabored  hound  beneath  his  master's  lash  ?  Oh,  comrades  ! 
warriors,  Thracians !  If  we  must  fight,  let  us  fight  for  our- 
selves !  .  If  we  must  slaughter,  let  us  slaughter  our  oppressors  ! 
If  we  must  die,  let  it  be  under  the  clear  sky,  by  the  bright 
waters,  in  noble,  honorable  battle  !  " 


SOLILOQUY  OP  THE  DYING  ALCHEMIST. 


THE  night  wind  with  a  desolate  moan  swept  by ; 
And  the  old  shutters  of  the  turret  swung, 
Creaking  upon  their  hinges  ;  and  the  moon, 
As  the  torn  edges  of  the  clouds  flew  past, 
Struggled  aslant  the  stained  and  broken  panes 
So  dimly,  that  the  watchful  eye  of  death 
Scarcely  was  conscious  when  it  went  and  came. 


SOLILOQUY    OF    THE    DYING   ALCHEMIST.  97 

The  fire  beneath  his  crucible  was  low  ; 
Yet  still  it  burned ;  and  ever  as  his  thoughts 
Grew  insupportable,  he  raised  himself 
Upon  his  wasted  arm,  and  stirred  the  coals 
With  difficult  energy  ;  and  when  the  rod 
Fell  from  his  nerveless  fingers,  and  his  eye 
Felt  faint  within  its  socket,  he  shrunk  back 
Upon  his  pallet,  and  with  unclosed  lips 
Muttered  a  curse  on  death ! 

The  silent  room, 

From  its  dim  corners,  mockingly  gave  back 
His  rattling  breath ;  the  humming  in  the  fire 
Had  the  distinctness  of  a  knell ;  and  when 
Duly  the  antique  horologe  beat  one, 
He  drew  a  vial  from  beneath  his  head, 
And  drank.     And  instantly  his  lips  compressed, 
And,  with  a  shudder  in  his  skeleton  frame, 
He  rose  with  supernatural  strength,  and  sat 
Upright,  and  communed  with  himself : — 

I  did  not  think  to  die 
Till  I  had  finished  what  I  had  to  do : 
I  thought  to  pierce  the  eternal  secret  through 

With  this  my  mortal  eye  ; 
I  felt,  0  God  !  It  seemeth  even  now 
This  cannot  be  the  death-dew  on  my  brow 

And  yet  it  is, — I  feel, 
Of  this  dull  sickness  at  my  heart,  afraid ; 
And  in  my  eyes  the  death-sparks  flash  and  fade : 

And  something  seems  to  steal 
Over  my  bosom  like  a  frozen  hand, 
Binding  its  pulses  with  an  icy  band. 


And  this  is  death  !     But  why 
Feel  I  this  wild  recoil  1     It.  cannot  be 


98  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

The  immortal  spirit  shuddereth  to  be  free  : 

Would  it  not  leap  to  fly 
Like  a  chained  eaglet  at  its  parents  call  ? 
I  fear — I  fear — that  this  poor  life  is  all ! 

Yet  thus  to  pass  away  ! — 
To  live  but  for  a  hope  that  mocks  at  last, — 
To  agonize,  to  strive,  to  watch,  to  fast, 

To  waste  the  light  of  day, 
Night's  better  beauty,  feeling,  fancy,  thought, 
All  we  have  or  are — for  this — for  naught. 

Grant  me  another  year, 
God  of  my  spirit ! — but  a  day, — to  win 
Something  to  satisfy  this  thirst  within ' 

I  would  know  something  here  ! 
Break  for  me  but  one  seal  that  is  unbroken ! 
Speak  for  me  but  one  word  that  is  unspoken ! 

Vain — vain  ! — my  brain  is  turning 
With  a  swift  dizziness,  and  my  heart  grows  sick, 
And  these  hot  temple-throbs  come  fast  and  thick, 

And  I  am  freezing — burning — 
Dying  !     0  God !  if  I  might  only  live  ! 
My  vial Ha !  it  thrills  me  ! — I  revive. 

0,  but  for  time  to  track 
The  upper  stars  into  the  pathless  sky, — 
To  see  the  invisible  spirits,  eye  to  eye, — 

To  hurl  the  lightning  back, — 
To  tread  unhurt  the  sea's  dim-lighted  halls, — 
To  chase  day's  chariot  to  the  horizon-walls, — 

And  more,  much  more, — for  row 
The  life-sealed  fountains  of  my  nature  move 
To  nurse  and  purify  this  human  love  ; 

To  clear  the  godlike  brow 


SOLILOQUY    OF    THE    DYING    ALCHEMIST.  99 

Of  weakness  and  mistrust,  and  bow  it  down, 
Worthy  and  beautiful,  to  the  much-loved  one. 

This  were  indeed  to  feel 

The  soul-thirst  slacken  at  the  living  stream, — 
To  live — 0  God  !  that  life  is  but  a  dream  ! 

And  death Aha  !  I  reel — 

Dim — dim — I  faint — darkness  comes  o'er  my  eye  I 
Cover  me  !  save  me  ! God  of  heaven !  I  die  ! 

'Twas  morning,  and  the  old  man  lay  alone. 
No  friend  had  closed  his  eyelids,  and  his  lips, 
Open  and  ashly  pale,  the  expression  wore 
Of  his  death-struggle.     His  long  silvery  hair 
Lay  on  his  hollow  temples  thin  and  wild, 
His  frame  was  wasted,  and  his  features  wan 
And  haggard  as  with  want,  and  in  his  palm 
His  nails  were  driven  deep,  as  if  the  throe 
Of  the  last  agony  had  wrung  him  sore. 

The  fire  beneath  the  crucible  was  out ; 
The  vessels  of  his  mystic  art  lay  round, 
Useless  and  cold  as  the  ambitious  hand 
That  fashioned  them,  and  the  small  rod, 
Familiar  to  his  touch  for  three  score  years, 
Lay  on  the  alembic's  rirn,  as  if  it  still 
Might  vex  the  elements  at  its  master's  will. 

And  thus  had  passed  from  its  unequal  frame 
A  soul  of  fire, — a  sun-bent  eagle  stricken 
From  his  high  soaring  down, — an  instrument 
Broken  with  its  own  compass.     0,  how  poor 
Seems  the  rich  gift  cf  genius,  when  it  lies, 
Like  the  adventurous  bird  that  hath  outflown 
His  strength  upon  the  sea,  ambition  wrecked, — 
A  thing  the  thrush  might  pity,  as  she  sits 
Brooding  in  quiet  on  her  lowly  nest. 


100  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 


EECONSTEUCTION. 

A  COLLOQU-Y  IN   TWO    SCENES. 

F.   B.   WILSON. 

Characters, 

GODDESS  OF  LIBERTY. 

NEGRO  RACE,  represented  by  a  single  person. 

BREMER,          \ 

THALWOBTH,    /  EeMs      ^     pardon. 

FARNTON.         C 

TORTEEX,         ) 

COSTUMES. — GODDESS  OF  LIBERTY — White  dress  covered  with  silver 
stars  ;  red  and  blue  sash  ;  silvered  crown  ;  liberty  pole  and  cap  by  her 
side.  REBELS — Citizen '*  dress  suit.  NEGRO — Soldier's  uniform ;  one 
hand  in  sling  ;  no  cap. 

SCENE  I. — GODDESS  OF  LIBERTY  seated ;  seat  elevated.  Stand 
near  her  covered  with  papers  marked  "Pardon"  She  has  some  in  her 
hand. 

GODDESS.  When  cruel  war  was  abroad  on  land  and  sea ; 
when  my  brave  sons  were  giving  their  strength,  that  liberty 
might  be  established ;  when  I  saw  the  mangled  corpses  on 
many  a  field  of  battle,  my  blood  ran  cold  in  my  veins,  and 
sickness  brought  me  nigh  to  death.  But  God  in  his  kind 
mercy  spared  me ;  and  America  still  lives.  Though  she  has 
suffered  a  baptism  of  blood ;  though  her  brave  sons  have 
fallen  by  thousands  ;  yet  millions  that  were  bound  by  the 
accursed  chains  of  slavery  are  now  free.  Oh !  God,  thou 
hast  given  many  blessings  to  this  people,  and  we  pray  thee 
that  thou  wilt  not  desert  us,  in  this,  our  hour  of  greatest  trial. 
The  entreaties  for  "pardon"  come  to  me  from  those  who 
have,  with  the  engines  of  war,  attempted  to  crush  the  brave, 
loyal  sons  of  America ;  from  those  who  have  made  the 
young  wife  a  widow,  and  the  motherless,  orphans ;  who 
have,  by  their  fightings,  left  ti  v:ieaiit  ch:dr  by  every  fireside 


RECONSTRUCTION.  101 

throughout  the  land.  Now,  can  7  gcaaf  them  pardon  T  ^Are 
they  to  be  trusted  ?  Who  but  Goo.  can  assist  ine  to  answer 
these  questions  that  are  thrust  upoa1  me  For  colutioiu  .'  ^u^ 
here  come  others  to  ask  me  to  portion  wieir 'dreadful  wrongs. 

Enter  four  rebels,  BREMER,  THAL WORTH,  FARNTON  and  TORT E EN. 
GODDESS  sits  with  head  resting  on  hand.  They  arrange  themselves  in  a 
semicircle  around  her. 

BREMER.  Can  we  be  restored  to  citizenship  ? 

THALWORTII.  Can  we  have  the  rights  of  freemen  restored 
to  us  ? 

FARNTON.  Do  you  accept  our  entreaties  for  pardon  ? 

TORTEEN.  Have  we  our  rights  given  us  as  before  ? 

GODDESS.  Your  questions  are  questions  of  great  moment. 
They  have  a  direct  bearing  on  the  interests  of  America. 
Can  I  trust  you,  who  have  for  four  years  been  enemies  to 
me  ?  who  have  wealth  and  the  power  that  wealth  gives  at 
your  command  ; 

BREMER.  Your  interests  are  our  interests ;  your  land  is 
our  land.  We  would  not  injure  you,  for  in  so  doing  we  in- 
jure ourselves. 

GODDESS.  Why  did  you  not  think  of  that  before  rebellion 
spread  over  all  our  happy  land?  why  did  you  not  use  >our 
influence  to  prevent  a  war  ?  why  did  you  become  our 
enemies  ? 

FARNTON.  The  questions  you  ask  us  are  too  severe.  We 
would  bury  the  past ;  beg  thy  pardon  for  our  many  offences, 
and  in  the  future  endeavor  to  live  as  American's  sons  should 
live. 

GODDESS.  Yet  I  cannot  trust  you.  You  must  make  some 
sacrifice  ere  you  can  claim  to  be  my  sons.  Your  wealth 
gives  you  too  great  an  influence.  Many  have  been  made 
poor  by  your  own  wickedness,  and  they  have  suffered 
enough.  Take  your  wealth,  give  it  to  them,  and  then  I  will 
receive  you  as  my  children.  Do  this,  become  poor  ;  let  those 
that  are  suffering  the  tortures  of  poverty  be  made  happy  by 
your  wealth.  Begin  lifo  again,  and  if  you  ever  become 


102  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

wealthy -let  it  ?pe, 'by;h<>n.esi -toil.     Until  you  do  this,  pardon 
will  11  dt  be  graiiteclr0(52efefe  drop  their  heads)  nor  the  rights 
otf  ^Lrecsliij)  .Tutored.   f(Mwtic  heard  without.) 
CURTAIN. 

SCENE  II. — No  papers  are  to  be  seen.     GODDESS  alone,  standing. 

GODDESS.  Another  important  question  is  being  discussed 
throughout  our  land.  Shall  the  negro  w>te  f  Shall  color  pre- 
vent an  honest  heart  from  the  right  of  suffrage  ?  God 
created  all  men  free  and  equal.  The  black  and  the  white 
man  are  subjects  of  his  creation.  They  both  have  a  never 
dying  soul  that  is  destined  to  live  on  and  on  forever.  (Ad- 
vances, stands  with  hands  clasped  about  liberty  pole,  head  resting  on 
them.  NEGRO  enters,  kneels  at  her  feel.)  Your  master  was 
restored  to  citizenship  by  giving  up  a  few  paltry  dollars. 
He  fought  my  sons,  and  hurled  death's  missive  in  their 
brave  ranks.  He  is  pardoned.  If  I  can  trust  him,  can  I 
not  trust  you  ?  You,  who  have  aided  my  sons  in  breaking 
down  this  terrible  rebellion  ?  God  grant  that  my  decision 
may  not  be  a  wrong  decision.  The  black  man  shall  vote. 
(NEGRO  rises.)  He  is  free,  and  we  pray  thee,  0  God,  to  grant 
thy  blessing  on  a  down-trodden  and  wronged  race.  (Takes  NEGRO 
ty  hand,  points  to  banner.)  Look  upon  that  nag ;  emblem  of 
the  institutions  for  which  you  have  been  fighting.  There 
are  red  lines  of  blood,  and  white  lines  of  spirit  truth.  In 
saying  you  may  exercise  the  right  of  suffrage,  I  help  you  on 
the  white  line.  Walk  uprightly,  honor  your  country  and  your 
God.  (Music,  as  curtain  falls.} 

CURTAIN. 


UNJUST  NATIONAL  ACQUISITION. 

THOMAS   CORWIN. 

MR.  PRESIDENT,  the  uneasy  desire  to  augment  our  terri- 
tory has  depraved  the  moral  sense  and  blighted  the  other- 
wise keen  sagacity  of  our  people.  Sad,  very  sad,  are  the 


UNJUST    NATIONAL    ACQUISITION.  103 

lessons  which  Timo  has  written  for  113.  Through  and  in 
them  all  I  see  nothing  but  the  inflexible  execution  of  that 
old  law  which  ordains,  as  eternal,  the  cardinal  rule,  "  Thou 
shalt  not  covet  thy  neighbor's  goods,  nor  anything  which  is 
his."  Since  I  have  lately  heard  so  much  about  the  (Jismem- 
berment  of  Mexico,  I  have  looked  back  to  see  how,  in  the 
course  of  events,  which  so^ne  call  "  Providence,"  it  has  fared 
with  other  nations  who  engaged  in  this  work  of  dismember- 
ment. 

I  see  that  in  the  latter  half  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
three  powerful  nations,  Russia,  Austria  and  Prussia,  united 
in  the  dismemberment  of  Poland.  They  said,  'too,  as  you 
say,  "It  is  our  destiny."  They  "wanted  room."  Doubtless 
each  of  these  thought,  with  his  share  of  Poland,  his  power 
was  too  strong  ever  to  fear  invasion,  or  even  insult.  One 
had  his  California,  another  his  New  Mexico,  and  the  third 
his  Vera  Cruz. 

Did  they  remain  untouched  and  incapable  of  harm  ? 
Alas !  no — far,  very  far  from  it.  Betributive  justice  must 
fulfil  its  destiny  too.  A  very  few  years  pass  off,  and  we  hear  , 
of  a  new  man,  a  Corsican  lieutenant,  the  self-named  "  armed 
soldier  of  Democracy,"  Napoleon.  He  ravages  Austria, 
covers  her  land  with  blood,  drives  the  Northern  Caesar  from 
his  capital,  and  sleeps  in  his  palace.  Austria  may  now  re- 
member how  her  power  trampled  upon  Poland.  Did  she  not 
pay  dear,  very  dear  for  her  California  ? 

But  has  Prussia  no  atonement  to  make  ?  You  see  this 
same  Napoleon,  the  blind  instrument  of  Providence,  at  work 
there.  The  thunders  of  his  cannon  at  Jena  proclaim  the 
work  of  retribution  for  Poland's  wrongs  ;  and  the  suc- 
cessors of  the  Great  Frederick,  the  drill-sergeant  of  Europe, 
are  seen  flying  across  the  sandy  plains  that  surround  their 
capital,  right  glad  if  they  may  escape  captivity  and  death. 

But  how  fares  it  with  the  Autocrat  of  Russia  ?  Is  he 
secure  in  his  share  of  the  spoils  of  Poland  ?  No.  Suddenly 
we  see,  sir,  six  hundred  thousand  armed  men  marching  to 
Moscow.  Does  his  Vera  Cruz  protect  him  now  ?  Far  from 


104  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

it.  Blood,  slaughter,  desolation,  spread  abroad  over  the 
land  ;  and,  finally,  the  conflagration  of  the  old  commercial 
metropolis  of  Russia  closes  the  retribution ;  she  must  pay 
for  her  share  in  the  dismemberment  of  her  impotent  neigh- 
bor. 

Mr.  President,  a  mind  more  prone  to  look  for  the  judg- 
ments of  Heaven  in  the  doings  o£  men  than  mine  cannot 
fail,  in  all  unjust  acqusitions  of  territory,  to  see  the  Provi- 
dence of  God.  "When  Moscow  burned,  it  seemed  as  if  the 
earth  was  lighted  up,  that  the  nations  might  behold  the 
scene.  As  that  mighty  sea  of  fire  gathered  and  heaved  and 
rolled  upward,  and  yet  higher,  till  its  flames  licked  the  stars, 
and  fired  the  whole  heavens,  it  did  seem  as  though  the  God 
of  the  nations  was  writing,  in  characters  of  flames,  on  the 
front  of  His  throne,  that  doom  that  shall  fall  upon  the  strong 
nation  which  tramples  in  scorn  upon  the  weak. 

And  what  fortune  awaits  him,  the  appointed  executor 
of  this  work,  when  it  was  all  done  ?  He,  too,  conceived  the 
notion  that  his  destiny  pointed  onward  to  universal  domin- 
ion. France  was  too  small, — Europe  he  thought  should  bow 
down  before  him.  But  as  soon  as  this  idea  takes  possession 
of  his  soul,  he  too  becomes  powerless.  His  terminus  must 
recede  too.  Right  there,  while  he  witnessed  the  humilia- 
tion, and,  doubtless,  meditated  the  subjugation  of  Russia, 
He  who  holds  the  winds  in  His  fist,  gathered  the  snows  of 
the  North,  and  blew  them  upon  his  six  hundred  thousand 
men.  They  fled — they  froze — they  perished. 

And  now  the  mighty  Napoleon,  who  had  resolved  on  uni- 
versal dominion,  he  too,  is  summoned  to  answer  for  the  vio- 
lation of  that  ancient  law,  "  Thou  shalt  not  covet  anything 
which  is  thy  neighbor's."  How  is  the  mighty  fallen !  He, 
beneath  whose  proud  footstep  Europe  trembled,  he  is  now 
an  exile  at  Elba,  and  now,  finally,  a  prisoner  on  the  rock  of 
St.  Helena — and  there  on  a  barren  island,  in  an  unfrequent- 
ed sea,  in  the  crater  of  an  extinguished  volcano,  there  is  the 
death-bed  of  the  mighty  conqueror.  All  his  annexations 
have  come  to  that  I  His  last  hour  is  now  at  hand ;  and  he, 


DIMES    AND    DOLLARS.  105 

the  man  of  destiny,  he  who  had  rocked  the  world  as  with 
the  throes  of  an  earthquake,  is  now  powerless,  still — even  as 
the  beggar,  so  he  died. 

On  the  wings  of  a  tempest  that  raged  with  unwonted  fury, 
up  to  the  throne  of  the  only  Power  that  controlled  hii^vvhilo 
he  lived,  went  to  the  fiery  soul  of  that  wonderful  warrior, 
another  witness  to  the  existence  of  that  eternal  decree,  that 
they  who  do  not  rule  in  righteousness  shall  perish  from  the 
earth.  He  has  found  "  room  "  at  last.  And  France,  she 
too  has  found  "room."  Her  "eagles "now  no  longer  scream 
along  the  banks  of  the  Danube,  the  Po,  and  the  Borysthenes. 
They  have  returned  home  to  their  old  aerie,  between  the 
Alps,  the  Rhine,  and  the  Pyrenees. 

So  shall  it  be  with  yours.  You  may  carry  them  to  the 
loftiest  peaks  of  the  Cordilleras ;  they  may  wave,  with  inso- 
lent triumph,  in  the  halls  of  the  Montezumas ;  the  armed 
men  of  Mexico  may  quail  before  them;  but  the  weakest 
hand  in  Mexico,  uplifted  in  prayer  to  the  God  of  Justice, 
may  call  down  against  you  a  Power  in  the  presence  of 
which  the  iron  hearts  of  your  warriors  shall  be  turned  into 
ashes ! 


DIMES  AND  DOLLAES. 

HENRY  MILLS. 

"  DIMES  and  dollars  !  dollars  and  dimes  !  " 
Thus  an  old  miser  rang  the  chimes, 
As  he  sat  by  the  side  of  an  open  box. 
With  ironed  angles  and  massive  locks  : 
And  he  heaped  the  glittering  coin  on  high, 
And  cried  in  delirious  ecstacy — 
"  Dimes  and  dollars  !  dollars  and  dimes  ! 
Ye  are  the  ladders  by  which  man  climbs 
Over  his  fellows.     Musical  chimes  ! 
Dimes  and  dollars  !  dollars  and  dimes  !  " 

A  sound  on  the  gong,  and  the  miser  rose, 
And  his  laden  coffer  did  quickly  close, 


106  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

And  locked  secure.     "  These  are  the  times 
For  a  man  to  look  after  his  dollars  and  dimes. 
A  letter  !  ha  !  from  my  prodigal  son. 
The  old  tale — poverty — pshaw,  begone  ! 
Why  did  he  marry  when  1  forbade  1 
*       As  he  has  sown  so  he  must  reap  ; 
But  I  my  dollars  secure  will  keep. 
A  sickly  wife  and  starving  times  1 
He  should  have  wed  with  dollars  and  dimes." 

Thickly  the  hour  of  midnight  fell ; 
Doors  and  windows  were  bolted  well. 
"  Ha  !  "  cried  the  miser,  "  not  so  bad  : — 
A  thousand  guineas  to-day  I've  made. 
Money  makes  money  ;  these  are  the  times 
To  double  and  treble  the  dollars  and  dimes. 
Now  to  sleep,  and  to-morrow  to  plan  ;— 
Rest  is  sweet  to  a  wearied  man." 
And  he  fell  to  sleep  with  the  midnight  chimes, 
Dreaming  of  glittering  dollars  and  dimes. 

The  sun  rose  high,  and  its  beaming  ray 

Into  the  miser  s  room  found  way. 

It  moved  from  the  foot  till  it  lit  the  head 

Of  the  miser's  low  uncurtained  bed  ; 

And  it  seemed  to  say  to  him,  "  Sluggard,  awake  j 

Thou  hast  a  thousand  dollars  to  make. 

Up  man,  up  !  "     How  still  was  the  place, 

As  the  bright  ray  fell  on  the  miser's  face  ! 

Ha  !  the  old  miser  at  last  is  dead  ! 

Dreaming  of  gold,  his  spirit  fled, 

And  he  left  behind  but  an  earthly  clod, 

Akin  to  the  dross  that  he  made  his  god. 

What  now  avails  the  chinking  chimes 
Of  dimes  and  dollars  !  dollars  and  dimes  ! 
Men  of  the  times  !  men  of  the  times  ! 
Content  may  not  rest  with  dollars  and  dimes. 
Use  them  well,  and  their  use  sublimes 
The  mineral  dross  of  the  dollars  and  dimes. 


THE    DEAD    DRUMMER-BOY.  107 

Use  them  ill,  and  a  thousand  crimes 

Spring  from  a  coffer  of  dollars  and  dimes. 

Men  of  the  times  !  men  of  the  times  ! 

Let  chanty  dwell  with  your  dollars  and  dimes. 


THE  DEAD  DEUMMEE-BOY. 

H'ARPERS'   WEEKLY. 

'MIDST  tangled  roots  that  lined  the  wild  ravine, 

Where  the  fierce  fight  raged  hottest  through  the  day, 
And  where  the  dead  in  scattered  heaps  were  seen, 
Amid  the  darkling  forests'  shade  and  sheen, 
Speechless  in  death  lie  lay. 

The  setting  sun,  which  glanced  athwart  the  place 

In  slanting  lines,  like  amber-tinted  rain, 
Fell  sidewise  on  the  drummer's  upturned  face, 
Where  Death  had  left  his  gory  finger's  trace 
In  one  bright  crimson  stain. 

The  silken  fringes  of  his  once  bright  eye 
Lay  like  a  shadow  on  his  cheek  so  fair ; 
His  lips  were  parted  by  a  long-drawn  sigh, 
That  with  his  soul  had  mounted  to  the  sky 
On  some  wild  martial  air. 

No  more  his  hand  the  fierce  tattoo  shall  beat, 

The  shrill  reveille",  or  the  long-roll's  call, 
Or  sound  the  charge,  when  in  the  smoke  and  heat 
Of  fiery  onset  foe  with  foe  shall  meet, 
And  gallant  men  shall  fall. 

Yet  maybe  in  some  happy  home,  that  one — 
A  mother — reading  from  the  list  of  dead, 
Shall  chance  to  view  the  name  of  her  dear  son, 
And  move  her  lips  to  say,  "  God's  will  be  done  !  " 
And  bow  in  grief  her  head. 


108        RECITATIONS  AND  DIALOGUES. 

But  more  than  this  what  tongue  shall  tell  his  story  7 

Perhaps  his  boyish  longin.s  were  for  fame  1 
He  lived,  he  died  ;  and  so,  memento  mori — 
Enough  if  on  the  page  of  War  and  Glory 
Some  hand  has  writ  his  name. 


HOME. 

JAMES  MONTGOMERY. 

THERE  is  a  land,  of  every  land  the  pride, 

Beloved  by  Heaven  o'er  all  the  world  beside ; 

Where  brighter  suns  dispense  serener  light, 

And  milder  moons  emparadise  the  night ; 

A  land  of  beauty,  virtue,  valor,  truth, 

Time-tutored  age,  and  love-exalted  youth  ; 

The  wandering  mariner,  whose  eye  explores 

The  wealthiest  isles,  the  most  enchanting  shores, 

Views  not  a  realm  so  bountiful  and  fair, 

Nor  breathes  the  spirit  of  a  purer  air. 

In  every  clime  the  magnet  of  his  soul, 

Touched  by  remembrance,  trembles  to  that  pole ; 

For  in  this  land  of  Heaven's  peculiar  grace, 

The  heritage  of  nature's  noblest  race, 

There  is  a  spot  of  earth,  supremely  blest, 

A  dearer,  sweeter  spot  than  all  the  rest. 

Where  man,  creation's  tyrant,  casts  aside 

His  sword  and  sceptre,  pageantry  and  pride, 

While  in  his  softened  looks  benignly  blend 

The  sire,  the  son,  the  husband,  brother,  friend : 

Here  woman  reigns  ;  the  mother,  daughter,  wife, 

Strews  with  fresh  flowers  the  narrow  path  of  life ; 

In  the  clear  heaven  of  her  delightful  eye, 

An  angel-guard  of  loves  and  graces  lie  ; 

Around  her  knees  domestic  duties  meet, 

And  fire-side  pleasures  gambol  at  her  feet. 

Where  shall  that  land,  that  spot  of  earth  be  found  7 

Art  thou  a  man  ? — a  patriot  ?  look  around  ; 


HOME.  109 

Oh,  tliou  shalt  find,  howe'er  thy  footsteps  roam, 
That  land  thy  country,  and  that  spot  thy  home. 

On  Greenland's  rocks,  o'er  rude  Kamschatka's  plains, 
In  pale  Siberia's  desolate  domains  ; 
Where  the  wild  hunter  takes  his  lonely  way, 
Tracks  through  tempestuous  snows  his  savage  prey, 
The  reindeer's  spoil,  the  ermine's  treasures  shares, 
And  feasts  his  famine  on  the  fat  of  bears  : 
Or  wrestling  with  the  might  of  raging  seas, 
Where  round  the  pole  the  eternal  billows  freeze, 
Plucks  from  their  jaws  the  stricken  whale,  in  vain 
Plunging  down  headlong  through  the  whirling  main; 
His  wastes  of  ice  are  lovelier  in  his  eye 
Than  all  the  flowery  vales  beneath  the  sky ; 
And  dearer  far  than  Caesar's  palace-dome, 
His  cavern  shelter,  and  his  cottage-home. 
O'er  China's  garden-fields,  and  peopled  floods ; 
In  California's  pathless  world  of  woods  ; 
Round  Andes'  heights,  where  winter,  from  his  throne, 
Looks  down  in  scorn  upon  the  summer  gone  ; 
By  the  gay  borders  of  Bermuda's  isles, 
Where  spring  with  everlasting  verdure  smiles  ; 
On  pure  Madeira's  vine-robed  hills  of  health* 
In  Java's  swamp  of  pestilence  and  wealth  ; 
Where  Babel  stood,  where  wolves  and  jackals  drink ; 
'Midst  weeping  willows,  on  Euphrates'  brink  ; 
On  Carmel's  crest ;  by  Jordan's  reverend  stream, 
Where  Canaan  s  glories  vanish  like  a  dream  ; 
Where  Greece,  a  spectre,  haunts  her  heroes'  graves, 
And  Rome's  vast  ruins  darken  Tiber's  waves ; 
Where  broken-hearted  Switzerland  bewails 
Her  subject  mountains,  and  dishonored  vales ; 
Where  Albion's  rocks  exult  amidst  the  sea, 
Around  the  beauteous  isle  of  liberty  ; 
— Man,  through  all  ages  of  revolving  time, 
Unchanging  man,  in  every  varying  clime, 
Deems  his  own  land  of  every  land  the  pride, 
Beloved  by  Heaven  o'er  all  tho  world  beside ; 


110  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

His  home  the  spot  of  earth  supremely  blest, 
A  dearer,  sweeter  spot  than  all  the  rest. 


BESPONSIBILITY  OF  AMEEICAN  CITIZENS. 

JOSEPH   STOBY. 

[The  following  extract  is  taken  from  an  Oration  delivered  by  Judge  Story 
Sept.  18,  1828,  on  the  occasion  of  the  commemoration  of  the  first  settlement  of 
Salem,  Massachusetts.] 

WE  stand  the  latest,  and,  if  we  fail,  probable  the  last, 
experiment  of  self-government  by  the  people.  We  have  be- 
gun it  under  circumstances  of  the  most  auspicious  nature. 
We  are  in  the  vigor  of  youth.  Our  growth  has  never  been 
checked  by  the  oppressions  of  tyranny.  Our  constitutions 
have  never  been  enfeebled  by  the  vices  or  luxuries  of  the 
old  world.  Such  as  we  are,  we  have  been  from  the  begin- 
ning— simple,  hardy,  intelligent,  accustomed  to  self-govern- 
ment and  self-respect.  The  Atlantic  rolls  between  us  and 
any  formidable  foe. 

Within  our  territory,  stretching  through  many  degrees  of 
latitude  and  longitude,  we  have  the  choice  of  many  pro- 
ducts, and  many  means  of  independence.  The  government 
is  mild.  The  press  is  free.  Religion  is  free.  Knowledge 
reaches,  or  may  reach,  every  home.  What  fairer  prospect  of 
success  could  be  presented  ?  What  means  more  adequate  to 
accomplish  the  sublime  end  ?  What  more  is  necessary,  than 
for  the  people  to  preserve  what  they  themselves  have  cre- 
ated? 

Can  it  be  that  America,  under  such  circumstances  can 
betray  herself  ?  that  she  is  to  be  added  to  the  catalogue  of 
republics  the  inscription  upon  whose  ruins  is,  "  They  were, 
but  they  are  not '?  "  Forbid  it,  my  countrymen  !  forbid  it, 
Heaven  ! 

I  call  upon  you,  fathers,  by  the  shades  of  your   ancestors, 


RESPONSIBILITY    OF    AMERICAN    CITIZENS.        Ill 

by  the  dear  ashes  which  repose  in  this  precious  soil,  by  all 
you  are  and  all  you  hope  to  be, — resist  every  project  of  dis- 
union, resist  every  encroachment  upon  your  liberties,  resist 
every  attempt  to  fetter  your  consciences,  or  smother  your 
public  schools,  or  extinguish  your  system  of  public  in- 
struction. 

I  call  upon  you,  mothers,  by  that  which  never  fails  in 
woman — the  love  of  your  offspring;  teach  them,  as  they 
climb  your  knees,  or  lean  on  your  bosoms,  the  blessings  of 
liberty.  Swear  them  at  the  altar,  as  with  their  baptismal 
vows,  to  be  true  to  their  country,  and  never  to  forget  or  for- 
sake her. 

I  call  upon  you,  young  men,  to  remember  whose  sons  you 
are,  whose  inheritance  you  possess.  Life  can  never  be  too 
short,  which  brings  nothing  but  disgrace  and  oppression. 
Death  never  comes  too  soon,  if  necessa.ry  in  defence  of  the 
liberties  of  your  country. 

I  call  upon  you,  old  men,  for  your  counsels,  and  your 
prayers,  and  your  benedictions.  May  not  your  gray  hairs 
go  down  in  sorrow  to  the  grave  with  the  recollection  that 
you  have  lived  in  vain  !  May  not  your  last  sun  sink  in  the 
west  upon  a  nation  of  slaves  ! 

The  time  of  our  departure  is  at  hand,  to  make  way  for 
our  children  upon  the  theatre  of  life.  May  God  speed  them 
and  theirs  !  May  he  who,  at  the  distance  of  another  cen- 
tury, shall  stand  here  to  celebrate  this  day,  still  look  round 
upon  a  free,  happy,  and  virtuous  people  !  May  he  have 
reason  to  exult  as  we  do !  May  he,  with  all  the  enthusiasm 
of  truth,  as  well  as  of  poetry,  exclaim  that  here  is  still  his 
country. 

"  Zealous,  yet  modest ;  innocent,  though  free ; 
Patient  of  toil ;  serene  amidst  alarms  ; 
Inflexible  in  faith;  invincible  in  arms." 


112  RECITATIONS   AND    DIALOGUES. 

THE  SMACK  IN  SCHOOL. 

W.    P.    PALMER. 

A  DISTRICT  school,  not  far  away 

'Mid  Berkshire  hills,  one  winter's  day, 

Was  humming  with  its  wonted  noise 

Of  threescore  mingled  girls  and  boys — 

Some  few  upon  their  tasks  intent, 

But  more  on  furtive  mischief  bent ; 

The  while  the  master's  downward  look 

Was  fastened  on  a  copy-book — 

When  suddenly  behind  his  back, 

Rose,  loud  and  clear,  a  rousing  smack, 

As  'twere  a  battery  of  bliss 

Let  off  in  one  tremendous  kiss  ! 

"  What's  that  ?  "  the  startled  master  cries  ; 

"  That  thir,"  a  little  imp  replies, 

"  Wath  William  Willith,  if  you  pleathe— 

I  thaw  him  kith  Thuthannah  Peathe  !  " 

With  frown  to  make  a  statue  thrill, 

The  master  thundered  "  Hither,  Will!  " 

Like  wretch  o'ertaken  in  his  track, 

With  stolen  chattels  on  his  back, 

Will  hung  his  head  in  fear  and  shame, 

And  to  the  awful  presence  came — 

A  great,  green,  bashful  simpleton, 

The  butt  of  all  good-natured  fun — 

With  smile  suppressed,  and  birch  upraised, 

The  threat'ner  faltered — "  I'm  amazed 

That  you,  my  biggest  pupil,  should 

Be  guilty  of  an  act  so  rude  ! 

Before  the  whole  set  school  to  boot — 

What  evil  genius  put  you  to't  7  " 

"'  Twas  she,  herself,  sir,"  sobbed  the  lad, 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  be  so  bad — 

But  when  Susannah  shook  her  curls, 

And  whispered  I  was  'fear'd  of  girls, 


LEFT    ON    THE    BATTLE-FIELD.  113 

And  dassn't  kiss  a  baby's  doll, 

I  couldn't  stand  it,  sir,  at  all ! 

But  up  and  kissed  her  on  the  spot. 

I  know — boo  hoo — I  ought  to  not, 

Butr  somehow,  from  her  looks — boo  hoo — 

I  thought  she  kind  o'  wished  me  to  1  " 


LEFT  ON  THE   BATTLE-FIELD. 

SARAH  T.   BOLTON. 

WHAT,  was  it  a  dream  1  am  I  all  alone 

In  the  dreary  night  and  the  drizzling  rain  1 

Hist ! — ah,  it  was  only  the  river's  moan  ; 

They  have  left  me  behind,  with  the  mangled  slain. 

Yes,  now  I  remember  it  all  too  well ! 

We  met,  from  the  battling  ranks  apart ; 
Together  our  weapons  flashed  and  fell, 

And  mine  was  sheathed  in  his  quivering  heart. 

In  the  cypress  gloom,  where  the  deed  was  done, 

It  was  all  too  dark  to  see  his  face  j 
But  I  heard  his  death-groans,  one  by  one, 

And  he  holds  me  still  in  a  cold  embrace. 

He  spoke  but  once,  and  I  could  not  hear 

The  words  he  said,  for  the  cannon's  roar ; 
But  my  heart  grew  cold  with  a  deadly  fear, — 

0  God  !  I  had  heard  that  voice  before ! 

Had  heard  it  before  at  our  mother's  knee, 

When  we  lisped  the  words  of  our  evening  prayer  ! 

My  brother  !  would  I  had  died  for  thee, — 
This  burden  is  more  than  my  soul  can  bear ! 

I  pressed  my  lips  to  his  death-cold  cheek, 

And  begged  him  to  show  mo,  by  word  or  sign, 

That  he  knew  and  forgave  me  :  he  could  not  speak, 
But  he  nestled  his  poor  cold  face  to  mine. 


114  RECITATIONS   AND   DIALOGUES. 

The  blood  flowed  fast  from  ray  wounded  side, 
And  then  for  aivhile  I  forgot  my  pain, 

And  over  the  lakelet  we  seemed  to  glide 
In  our  little  boat,  two  boys  again. 

And  then,  in  my  dream,  me  stood  alone 
On  a  forest  path  where  the  shadows  fell ; 

And  I  heard  again  the  tremulous  tone, 
And  the  tender  words  of  his  last  farewell. 

But  that  parting  was  years,  long  years  ago, 
He  wandered  away  to  a  foreign  land  ; 

And  our  dear  old  mother  will  never  know 
That  he  died  to-night  by  his  brother's  hand. 


The  soldiers  who  buried  the  dead  away, 

Disturbed  not  the  clasp  of  that  last  embrace, 

But  laid  them  to  sleep  till  the  Judgment-day, 
Heart  folded  to  heart,  and  face  to  face. 


THE  AMEBICAN  FLAG. 

JOSEPH   RODMAN  DKAKE. 

WHEN  Freedom,  ?rom  her  mountain  height 

Unfurl'd  her  standard  to  the  air, 
She  tore  the  azure  robe  of  night, 

And  set  the  stars  of  glory  there ! 
She  mingled  with  its  gorgeous  dyes 
The  milky  baldric  of  the  skies, 
And  stripped  its  pure  celestial  white 
"With  streakings  of  the  morning  light. 
Then,  from  his  mansion  in  the  snu, 
She  call'd  her  eagle  bearer  down, 
And  gave  into  his  mighty  hand 
The  symbol  of  her  chosen  land  ! 


THE    AMERICAN    FLAG.  115 

Majestic  monarch  of  the  cloud  ! 

Who  rear'st  aloft  thy  regal  form, 
To  hear  the  ternpest-trumpings  loud, 
And  see  the  lightning  lances  driven, 

When  strive  the  warriors  of  the  storm, 
And  rolls  the  thunder-drum  of  heaven,-^ 
Child  of  the  Sun  !  to  thee  'tis  given 

To  guard  the  banner  of  the  free, 
To  hover  in  the  sulphur  smoke, 
To  ward  away  the  battle-stroke, 

And  bid  its  blendings  shine  afar, 

Like  rainbows  on  the  cloud  of  war, 
The  harbingers  of  victory  ! 

Flag  of  the  brave  !  thy  folds  shall  fly, 
The  sign  of  hope  and  triumph  high  ! 
When  speaks  the  signal-trumpet  tone, 
And  the  long  line  comes  gleaming  on, 
Ere  yet  the  life-blood,  warm  and  wet, 
Has  dimm'd  the  glistening  bayonet, 
Each  soldier's  eye  shall  brightly  turn 
To  where  thy  sky-born  glories  burn, 
And  as  his  springing  steps  advance, 
Catch  war  and  vengeance  from  the  glance. 
And  when  the  cannon-mouthings  loud 
Heave  in  wild  wreaths  the  battle  shroud, 
And  gory  sabres  rise  and  fall 
Like  shoots  of  flame  on  midnight's  pall, 
Then  shall  thy  meteor  glances  glow. 

And  cowering  foes  shall  shrink  beneath 
Each  gallant  arm  that  strikes  below 

That  lovely  messenger  of  death. 

Flag  of  the  seas !  on  ocean  wave 
Thy  stars  shall  glitter  o'er  the  brave  ; 
When  death,  careering  on  the  gale, 
Sweeps  darkly  round  tlie  bellied  sail, 
And  frighted  waves  rush  wildly  back 
Before  the  broadside's  reeling  rack, 


116  RECITATIONS   AND    DIALOGUES. 

Each  dying  wanderer  of  the  sea 
Shall  look  at  once  to  heaven  and  thee, 
And  smile  to  see  thy  splendors  fly 
In  triumph  o'er  his  closing  eye. 

Flag  of  the  free  heart's  hope  and  home, 

By  angel  hands  to  valor  given, 
Thy  stars  have  lit  the  welkin  dome, 

And  all  thy  hues  were  born  in  heaven. 
Forever  float  that  standard  sheet, 

AVhere  breathes  the  foe  bat  falls  before  us, 
With  Freedom's  soil  beneath  our  feet. 

And  Freedom's  banner  streaming  o'er  us  ! 


OH!  WHY  SHOULD  THE  SPIEIT  OF   MOETAL 
BE  PEOUD  ? 

ANONYMOUS. 

[The  following  poem  was  a  particular  favorite  with  Mr.  Lincoln,  and  which  he 
was  accustomed  occasionally  to  repeat.  Mr.  F.  B.  Carpenter,  the  artist,  writes 
that  while  engaged  in  painting  his  picture  at  the  White  House,  he  was  alone 
one  evening  with  the  President  in  his  room,  when  he  said  :  "  There  is  a  poem 
which  has  been  a  great  favorite  with  me  for  years,  which  was  first  shown  to 
me  when  a  young  man  by  a  friend,  and  which  I  afterwards  saw  and  cut  from 
a  newspaper  and  learned  by  heart.  I  would,"  he  continued,  "  give  a  great  deal 
to  know  who  wrote  it,  but  have  never  been  able  to  ascertain."  He  then  re- 
peated the  poem,  and  on  a  subsequent  occasion  Mr.  Carpenter  wrote  it  down 
from  Mr.  Lincoln's  own  lips.  The  poem  was  published  more  than  thirty  years 
ago,  was  then  stated  to  be  of  Jewish  origin  and  composition,  and  we  think 
was  credited  to  "  Songs  of  Israel."] 

OH,  why  should  the  spirit  of  mortal  be  proud  1 
Like  a  swift,  fleeting  meteor,  a  fast  flying  cloud, 
A  flash  of  the  lightning,  a  break  of  the  wave, 
Man  passes  from  life  to  his  rest  in  the  grave. 

The  leaves  of  the  oak  and  the  willows  shall  fade, 
Be  scattered  around  and  together  be  laid  ; 
And  the  young  and  the  old,  and  the  low  and  the  high, 
Shall  moulder  to  dust  and  together  shall  lie. 


OH  !    WHY    SHOULD    THE    SPIRIT,    ETC.  117 

The  infant  a  mother  attended  and  loved , 
The  mother  that  infant's  affection  who  proved ; 
The  husband  that  mother  and  infant  who  blessed, 
Each,  all,  are  away  to  their  dwellings  of  rest. 

The  maid  on  whose  cheek,  on  whose  brow,  in  whose  eye, 
Shone  beauty  and  pleasure — her  triumphs  are  by  ; 
And  the  memory  of  those  who  loved  her  and  praised, 
Are  alike  from  the  minds  of  the  living  erased. 

The  hand  of  the  king  that  the  sceptre  hath  borne  ; 
The  brow  cf  the  priest  that  the  mitre  hath  worn  ; 
The  eye  of  the  sage  and  the  heart  of  the  brave, 
Are  hidden  and  lost  in  the  depth  of  the  grave. 

The  peasant,  whose  lot  was  to  sow  and  to  reap ; 
The  herdsman,  who  climbed  with  his  goats  up  the  steep ; 
The  beggar,  who  wandered  in  search  of  his  bread, 
Have  faded  away  like  the  grass  that  we  tread. 

The  saint  who  enjoyed  the  communion  of  heaven, 
The  sinner  who  dared  to  remain  unforgiven, 
The  wise  and  the  foolish,  the  guilty  and  just, 
Have  quietly  mingled  their  bones  in  the  dust. 

So  the  multitude  goes,  like  the  flowers  or  the  weed 
That  withers  away  to  let  others  succeed  ; 
So  the  multitude  comes,  even  those  we  behold, 
To  repeat  every  tale  that  has  often  been  told. 

For  we  are  the  same  our  fathers  have  been  ; 
We  see  the  same  sights  our  fathers  have  seen — 
We  drink  the  same  stream  and  view  the  same  sun, 
And  run  the  same  course  our  fathers  have  run. 

The  thoughts  we  are  thinking  our  fathers  would  think  ; 
From  the  death  we  are  shrinking  our  fathers  would  shrink, 
To  the  life  we  are  clinging  they  also  would  cling  ; 
But  it  speeds  for  us  all,  like  a  bird  on  the  wing. 


118  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

They  loved,  but  the  story  we  cannot  unfold  ; 
They  scorned,  but  the  heart  of  the  haughty  is  cold ; 
They  grieved,  but  no  wail  from  their  slumbers  will  come ; 
They  joyed,  but  the  tongue  of  their  gladness  is  dumb. 

They  died,  aye  !  they  died :  and  we  things  that  are  now, 

"Who  walk  on  the  turf  that  lies  over  their  brow, 

Who  make  in  their  dwelling  a  transient  abode, 

Meet  the  things  that  they  met  on  their  pilgrimage  road. 

Yea !  hope  and  despondency,  pleasure  and  pain, 
We  mingle  together  in  sunshine  and  rain ; 
And  the  smiles  and  the  tears,  the  song  and  the  dirge, 
Still  follow  each  other,  like  surge  upon  surge. 

'Tis  the  wink  of  an  eye,  'tis  the  draught  of  a  breath  ; 
From  the  blossom  of  health  to  the  paleness  of  death, 
From  the  gilded  saloon  to  the  bier  and  the  shroud — 
Oh  why  should  the  spirit  of  mortal  be  proud  I 


PAEBHASIUS. 


PARRHASIUS  stood,  gazing  forgetfully 

Upon  the  canvas.     There  Prometheus  lay, 

Chained  to  the  cold  rocks  of  Mount  Caucasus, 

The  vulture  at  his  vitals,  and  the  links 

Of  the  lame  Lemnian  festering  in  his  flesh  ; 

And.  as  the  painter's  mind  felt  through  the  dim 

Rapt  mystery,  and  plucked  the  shadows  forth 

With  its  far-reaching  fancy,  and  with  form 

And  color  clad  them,  his  fine,  earnest  eye 

Flashed  with  a  passionate  fire,  and  the  quick  curl 

Of  his  thin  nostril,  and  his  quivering  lip, 

Were  like  the  winged  god's  breathing  from  his  flights. 


PARBHASIUS.  119 


"  Bring  me  the  captive  now  I 
My  hand  feels  skillful,  and  the  shadows  lift 
From  my  waked  spirit  airily  and  swift  : 

And  I  could  paint  the  bow 
Upon  the  bended  heavens  —  around  me  play 
Colors  of  such  divinity  to-day. 

Ha  !  bind  him  on  his  back  I 
Look  !  as  Prometheus  in  my  picture  here- 
Quick—  or  he  faints  !—  stand  with  the  cordial 

Now—  bend  him  to  the  rack! 
Press  down  the  poisoned  links  into  his  flesh  ! 
And  tear  agape  that  healing  wound  afresh  ! 


So  —  let  him  writhe  !  How  long 
Will  he  live  thus  1  Quick,  my  good  pencil  now  * 
What  a  fine  agony  works  upon  his  brow  I 

Ha  !  gray-haired,  and  so  strong  ! 
How  fearfully  he  stifles  that  short  moan  i 
Gods  1  could  I  but  paint  a  dying  groan  J 

Pity  thee  i  so  I  .do  < 
I  pity  the  dumb  victim  at  the  altar—  ^ 
But  does  the  robed  priest  for  his  pity  falter  1 

I'd  rack  thee,  though  I  knew 
A  thousand  lives  were  perishing  in  thine  — 
What  were  ten  thousand  to  a  fame  like  mine  J 

Ah  !  there's  a  deathless  name  !-*— 
A  spirit  that  the  smothering  vaults  shall  spurn, 
And.  like  a  steadfast  planet,  mount  and  burn—- 

And though  its  crown  of  flame 
Consumed  my  brain  to  ashes  as  it  shone*^ 
By  all  the  fiery  stars  !  I'd  bind  it  on  ! 

"Ay  !  though  it  bid  rue  rifle 
My  heart's  last  fount  for  its  insatiate  thirst  — 


120  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

Though  every  life-strung  nerve  be  maddened  first — 

Though  it  should  bid  me  stifle 
The  yearnings  in  my  heart  for  my  sweet  child, 
And  taunt  its  mother  till  my  brain  went  wild— 

"  All— I  would  do  it  ail- 
Sooner  than  die,  like  a  dull  worm,  to  rot 
Thrust  foully  in  the  earth  to  be  forgot. 

Oh  heavens — but  I  appall 

Your  heart,  old  man  ! — forgive — ha  !  on  your  lives 
Let  him  not  faint !  rack  him  till  he  revives  ! 

"  Vain — vain — give  orer.     His  eye 
Glazes  apace.     He  does  not  feel  you  now — 
Stand  back  !  I'll  paint  the  death-dew  on  his  brow! 

Gods  !  if  he  do  not  die, 
But  for  one  moment — one — till  I  eclipse 
Conception  with  the  scorn  of  those  calm  lips  ! 

"  Shivering !  Hark  !  he  mutters 
Brokenly  now — that  was  a  difficult  breath — 
Another  1  Wilt  thou  never  come,  oh,  Death  ! 

Look  !  how  his  temple  flutters  ! 
Is  his  heart  still  1  Aha !  lift  up  his  head  ! 
He  shudders — gasps — Jove  help  him — so — he's  dead/' 

How  like  a  mountain  devil  in  the  heart 
Rules  the  inreined  ambition  !     Let  it  once 
But  play  the  monarch,  and  its  haughty  brow 
Glows  with  a  beauty  that  bewilders  thought 
And  unthrones  peace  forever.     Putting  on 
The  very  pomp  of  Lucifer,  it  turns 
The  heart  to  ashes,  and  with  not  a  spring 
Left  in  the  desert  for  the  spirit's  lip, 
We  look  upon  our  splendor  and  forget 
The  thirst  of  which  we  perish  ! 


THE  VAGABONDS.  121 


THE  VAGABONDS. 

J.    T.    TKOWBRIDGE. 

WE  are  two  travellers,  Roger  and  I. 

Roger's  my  dog  : — come  here,  you  scamp  ! 
Jump  for  the  gentlemen, — mind  your  eye  ! 

Over  the  table, — look  out  for  the  lamp  ! — 
The  rogue  is  growing  a  little  old ; 

Five  years  we've  tramped  through  wind  and  weather, 
And  slept  out-doors  when  nights  were  cold, 

And  ate  and  drank — and  starved  together. 

We've  learned  what  comfort  is,  I  tell  you  ! 

A  bed  on  the  floor,  a  bit  of  rosin, 
A  fire  to  thaw  our  thumbs  (poor  fellow ! 

The  paw  he  holds  up  there's  been  frozen), 
Plenty  of  catgut  for  my  fiddle, 

(This  out-door  business  is  bad  for  the  strings), 
Then  a  few  nice  buckwheats  hot  from  the  griddle, 

And  Roger  and  I  set  up  for  kings  ! 

No,  thank  ye,  sir, — I  never  drink  ; 

Roger  and  I  are  exceedingly  moral — 
Aren't  we,  Roger  1 — see  him  wink  ! — 

Well,  something  hot,  then, — we  won't  quarrel. 
He's  thirsty,  too, — see  him  nod  his  head  1 

What  a  pity,  sir,  that  dogs  can't  taik  ! 
He  understands  every  word  that's  said, — 

And  he  knows  good  milk  from  water- and-chalk. 

The  truth  is,  sir,  now  I  reflect, 

I've  been  so  sadly  given  to  grog, 
I  wonder  I've  not  lost  the  respect 

(Here's  to  you,  sir !)  even  of  my  dog. 
But  he  sticks  by,  through  thick  and  thin  ; 

And  this  old  coat,  with  its  empty  pockets, 
And  rags  that  smell  of  tobacco  and  gin, 

He'll  follow  while  he  has  eyes  in  his  sockets. 


122  RECITATIONS   AND    DIALOGUES. 

There  isn't  another  creature  living 

Would  do  it,  and  prove,  through  every  disaster, 
So  fond,  so  faithful,  and  so  forgiving, 

To  such  a  miserable  thankless  master ! 
No,  sir  ! — see  him  wag  his  tail  and  grin  ! 

By  George  !  it  makes  my  old  eyes  water  ! 
That  is,  there's  something  in  this  gin 

That  chokes  a  fellow.     But  no  matter  ! 

We'll  have  some  music,  if  your're  willing, 

And  Roger  (hem  !  what  a  plague  a  cough  is,  sir !) 
Shall  march  a  little.     Start,  you  villain  ! 

Stand  straight !     'Bout  face  !     Salute  your  officer  ! 
Put  up  that  paw  !     Dress  !     Take  your  rifle  ! 

(Some  dogs  have  arms,  you  see  !)     Now  hold  your 
Cap  while  the  gentlemen  give  a  trifle, 

To  aid  a  poor  old  patriot  soldier  ! 

March  !     Halt !     Now  show  how  the  rebel  shakes 

When  he  stands  up  to  hear  his  sentence. 
Now  tell  us  how  many  drams  it  takes 

To  honor  a  jolly  new  acquaintance. 
Five  yelps. — that's  five  ;  he's  mighty  knowing  ! 

The  night's  before  us,  fill  the  glasses  ! — 
Quick,  sir  !     I  m  ill, — my  brain  is  going  ! 

Some  brandy, — thank  you, — there  ! — it  passes  ! 

Why  not  reform  1     That's  easily  said ; 

But  I've  gone  through  such  wretched  treatment, 
Sometimes  forgetting  the  taste  of  bread, 

And  scarce  remembering  what  meat  meant, 
That  my  poor  stomach's  past  reform  ; 

And  there  are  times  when,  mad  with  thinking, 
I'd  sell  out  heaven  for  something  warm 

To  prop  a  horrible  inward  sinking. 

Is  there  a  way  to  forget  to  think  1 

At  your  age,  sir,  home,  fortune,  friends, 


THE    VAGABONDS.  123 

A  dear  girl's  love, — but  I  took  to  drink ; — 
The  same  old  story  ;  you  know  how  it  ends. 

If  you  could  have  seen  these  classic  features. — 
You  needn't  laugh,  sir  ;  they  were  not  then 

Such  a  burning  libel  on  God's  creatures  : 
I  was  one  of  your  handsome  men  ! 

If  you  had  seen  her,  so  fair  and  young, 

Whose  head  was  happy  on  this  breast ! 
If  you  could  have  heard  the  songs  I  sung 

When  the  wine  went  round,  you  wouldn't  have  guessed 
That  ever  I,  sir,  should  be  straying 

From  door  to  door,  with  fiddle  arid  dog, 
Ragged  and  penniless,  and  playing 

To  you  to-night  for  a  glass  of  grog  ! 

She's  married  since }— a  parson's  wife  : 

'Twas  better  for  her  that  we  should  part, — 
Better  the  soberest,  prosiest  life 

Than  a  blasted  home  and  a  broken  heart. 
I  have  seen  her  1     Once  :  I  was  weak  and  spent 

On  the  dusty  road,  a  carriage  stopped : 
But  little  she  dreamed,  as  on  she  went, 

Who  kissed  the  coin  that  her  fingers  dropped  ! 

You've  set  me  talking,  sir  ;  I'm  sorry  ; 

It  makes  me  wild  to  think  of  the  change  ! 
What  do  you  care  for  a  beggar's  story  ? 

Is  it  amusing  7  you  find  it  strange  ? 
I  had  a  mother  so  proud  of   me  ! 

'Twas  well  she  died  before Do  you  know 

If  the  happy  spirits  in  heaven  can  see 

The  ruin  and  wretchedness  here  below  1 

Another  glass,  and  strong,  to  deaden 

This  pain ;  then  Roger  and  I  will  start. 
I  wonder,  has  he  such  a  lumpish,  leaden, 

Aching  thing,  in  place  of  a  heart  1 
He  is  sad  sometimes,  and  would  weep,  if  he  could, 

No  doubt,  remembering  things  that  were, — 


124  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

A  virtuous  kennel,  with  plenty  of  food, 
And  himself  a  sober,  respectable  cur. 

I'm  better  now  ;  that  glass  was  warming. 

You  rascal !  limber  your  lazy  feet ! 
We  must  be  fiddling  and  performing 

For  supper  and  bed,  or  starve  in  the  street. 
Not  a  very  gay  life  to  lead,  you  think  ? 

But  soon  we  shall  go  where  lodgings  are  free, 
And  the  sleepers  need  neither  victuals  nor  drink  ;- 

The  sooner,  the  better  for  Eager  and  me  ! 


A  BEIDAL  WINE-CUP. 

ANONYMOUS. 

"  PLEDGE  with,  wine — pledge  with  wine,"  cried  the  young 
and  thoughtless  Harry  "Wood.  "  Pledge  with  wine,"  ran 
through  the  brilliant  crowd. 

The  beautiful  bride  grew  pale — the  decisive  hour  had 
come,  she  pressed  her  white  hands  together,  and  the  leaves 
of  her  bridal  wreath  trembled  on  her  pure  brow  ;  her  breath 
came  quicker,  her  heart  beat  wilder. 

"  Yes,  Marion,  lay  aside  your  scruples  for  this  once,"  said 
the  Judge,  in  a  low  tone,  going  towards  his  daughter  ;  "  the 
company  expect  it,  do  not  so  seriously  infringe  upon  the 
rules  of  etiquette  ;  in  your  own  house  act  as  you  please  ;  but 
in  mine,  for  this  once  please  me." 

Every  eye  was  turned  towards  the  bridal  pair.  Marion's 
principles  were  well  known.  Henry  had  been  a  convivialist, 
f  but  of  late  his  friends  noticed  the  change  in  his  manners, 
the  difference  in  his  habits — and  to-night  they  watched  him 
to  see,  as  they  sneeringly  said,  if  he  was  tied  down  to  a 
woman's  opinion  so  soon. 

Pouring  a  brimming  beaker,  they  held  it  with  tempting 
smiles  toward  Marion.  She  was  very  pale,  though  more 
composed,  and  her  hand  shook  not,  as  smiling  back,  she 


A    BRIDAL    WINE-CUP.  125 

gratefully  accepted  the  crystal  tempter,  and  raised  it  to 
her  lips.  But  scarcely  had  she  done  so,  when  every  hand 
was  arrested  by  her  piercing  exclamation  of  "  Oh  !  how  ter- 
rible !  "  "  What  is  it  ?  "  cried  one  and  all,  thronging  together, 
for  she  had  slowly  carried  the  glass  at  arm's  length,  and  was 
fixedly  regarding  it  as  though  it  were  some  hideous  object. 

"  Wait,"  she  answered,  while  an  inspired  light  shone  from 
her  dark  eyes,  "  wait  and  I  will  tell  you.  I  see,"  she  added, 
slowly,  pointing  one  jewelled  finger  at  the  sparkling  ruby 
liquid,  "  a  sight  that  beggars  all  description ;  and  yet  listen ; 
I  will  paint  it  for  you  if  I  can :  It  is  a  lonely  spot ;  tall  moun- 
tains, crowned  with  verdure,  rise  in  awful  sublimity  around ; 
a  river  runs  through,  and  bright  flowers  grow  to  the  water's 
edge.  There  is  a  thick  warm  mist  that  the  sun  seeks  vainly 
to  pierce  ;  trees,  lofty  .and  beautiful,  wave  to  the  airy  motion 
of  the  birds ;  but  there,  a  group  of  Indians  gather  ;  they  flit 
to  and  fro  with  something  like  sorrow  upon  their  dark  brow  ; 
and  in  their  midst  lies  a  manly  form,  but  his  cheek,  how 
deathly ;  his  eye  wild  with  the  fitful  fire  of  fever.  One 
friend  stands  beside  him,  nay,  I  should  say  kneels,  for  he  is 
pillowing  that  poor  head  upon  his  breast. 

"  Genius  in  ruins.  Oh !  the  high,  holy  looking  brow  ! 
Why  should  death  mark  it,  and  he  so  young  ?  Look  how  he 
throws  the  damp  curls !  see  him  clasp  his  hands !  hear  his 
thrilling  shrieks  for  life !  mark  how  he  clutches  at  the  form 
of  his  companion,  imploring  to  be  saved.  Oh  !  hear  him  call 
piteousiy  his  father's  name ;  see  him  twine  his  fingers  to- 
gether as  he  shrieks  for  his  sister — his  only  sister — the  twin 
of  his  soul— weeping  for  him  in  his  distant  native  land. 

"  See  !  "  she  exclaimed,  while  the  bridal  party  shrank  back, 
the  untasted  wine  trembling  in  their  faltering  grasp,  and  the 
Judge  fell,  oyerpowered,  upon  his  seat ;  "  see  !  his  arms  are 
lifted  to  heaven  ;  he  prays,  how  wildly,  for  mercy !  hot  fever 
rushes  through  his  veins.  The  friend  beside  him  is  weeping  ; 
awe-stricken,  the  dark  men  move  silently,  and  leave  the 
living  and  dying  together." 

There  was  a  hush  in  that  princely  parlor,  broken  only  by 


126  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

what  seemed  a  smothered  sob,  from  some  manly  bosom.  The 
bride  stood  yet  upright,  with  quivering  lip,  and  tears  steal- 
ing to  the  outward  edge  of  her  lashes.  Her  beautiful  arm 
had  lost  its  tension,  and  the  glass,  with  its  little  troubled  red 
waves,  came  slowly  towards  the  range  of  her  vision.  She 
spoke  again ;  every  lip  was  mute.  Her  voice  was  low,  faint, 
yet  awfully  distinct:  she  still  fixed  her  sorrowful  glance 
upon  the  wine-cup. 

"  It  is  evening  now  ;  the  great  white  moon  is  coming  up, 
and  her  beams  lay  gently  on  his  forehead.  He  moves  not ; 
his  eyes  are  set  in  their  sockets ;  dim  are  their  piercing  glances ; 
in  vain  his  friend  whispers  the  name  of  father  and  sister, 
death  is  there.  Death !  and  no  soft  hand,  no  gentle  voice 
to  bless  and  sooth  him.  His  head  sinks  back  !  one  convul- 
sive shudder  !  he  is  dead  !  " 

A  groan  ran  through  the  assembly,  so  vivid  was  her  des- 
cription, so  unearthly  her  look,  so  inspired  her  manner,  that 
what  she  described  seemed  actually  to  have  taken  place 
then  and  there.  They  noticed  also,  that  the  bridegroom  hid 
his  face  in  his  hands  and  was  weeping. 

"  Dead  !  "  she  repeated  again,  her  lips  quivering  faster  and 
faster,  and  her  voice  more  and  more  broken ;  "  and  there  they 
scoop  him  a  grave  ;  and,  there  without  a  shroud,  they  lay 
him  down  in  the  damp  reeking  earth.  The  only  son  of  a 
proud  father,  the  only  idolized  brother  of  a  fond  sister. 
And  he  sleeps  to-day  in  that  distant  country,  with  no  stone 
to  mark  the  spot.  There  he  lies — my  father's  son — my  own 
twin  brother !  a  victim  to  this  deadly  poison.  Father,"  she 
exclaimed,  turning  suddenly,  while  the  tears  rained  down 
her  beautiful  cheeks,  "father,  shall  I  drink  it  now?  " 

The  form  of  the  old  Judge  was  convulsed  with  agony.  He 
raised  his  head,  but  in  a  smothered  voice  he  faltered — "  No, 
no,  my  child,  in  God's  name,  no." 

She  lifted  the  glittering  goblet,  and  letting  it  suddenly 
fall  to  the  floor  it  was  dashed  into  a  thousand  pieces.  Many 
a  tearful  eye  watched  her  movements,  and  instantaneously 
every  wine-glass  was  transferred  to  the  marble  table  on 


BLANCHE    OF    DEVAN'S    LAST    WORDS.  127 

which  it  had  been  prepared.  Then,  as  she  looked  at  the 
fragments  of  crystal,  she  turned  to  the  company,  saying  : — 
<<  Let  no  friend,  hereafter,  who  loves  me  tempt  me  to  peril 
my  soul  for  wine.  Not  firmer  the  everlasting  hills  than  my 
resolve,  God  helping  me,  never  to  touch  or  taste  that  terri- 
ble poison.  And  he  to  whom  I  have  given  my  hand ;  who 
watched  over  my  brothers  dying  form  in  that  last  solemn 
hour,  and  buried  the  dear  wanderer  there  by  the  river,  in 
that  land  of  gold,  will,  I  trust,  sustain  mo  in  that  resolve. 
"Will  you  not,  my  husband  ?  " 

His  glistening  eyes,  his  sad  sweet  smile  was  her  answer. 

The  Judge  left  the  room,  and  when  an  hour  later  he  re- 
turned, and  with  a  more  subdued  manner  took  part  in  the 
entertainment  of  the  bridal  guests,  no  one  could  fail  to  read 
that  he,  too,  had  determined  to  dash  the  enemy  at  once  and 
forever  from  his  princely  rooms. 

Those  who  were  present  at  that  wedding,  can  never  forget 
the  impression  so  solemnly  made.  Many  from  that  hoiL! 
forswore  the  social  glass. 


BLANCHE  OF  DEVAN'S   LAST  WOEDS. 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 

"  STRANGER,  it  is  in  vain  !  "  she  cried, 

<:  This  hour  of  death  has  given  me  more 

Of  Reason's  power,  than  years  before ; 

For,  as  these  ebbing  veins  decay, 

My  frenzied  visions  fade  away, 

A  helpless,  injured  wretch  I  die, 

And  something  tells  me  in  thine  eye,' 

That  thou  wert  my  avenger  born. 

Seest  thou  this  tress  1     0  !    still  I've  worn 

This  little  tress  of  yellow  hair, 

Through  danger,  frenzy  and  despair ! 

It  once  was  bright  and  clear  as  thine, 

But  blood  and  tears  have  dimmed  its  shine. 


128  KECITATIONS   AND    DIALOGUES. 

I  will  not  tell  thee  when  'twas  shed, 
Nor  from  what  guiltless  victim's  head 
My  brain  would  turn !  but  it  shall  wave 
Like  plumage  on  thy  hemlet  brave, 
Till  sun  and  wind  shall  bleach  the  stain, 
And  thou  wilt  bring  it  me  again. — 
I  waver  still !  0  God  !  more  bright 
Let  Reason  beam  her  parting  light ! 
0  !  by  thy  knighthood's  honored  sign, 
And  by  thy  life  preserved  by  mine, 
When  thou  shalt  see  a  darksome  man, 
Who  boast's  him  chief  of  Alpine's  clan, 
With  tartans  broad,  and  shadowy  plume, 
And  hand  of  blood  and  brow  of  gloom, 
Be  thy  heart  bold,  thy  weapon  strong, 
And  wreak  poor  Blanche  of  Devan's  wrong ! 
They  watch  for  thee  by  pass  and  fell — 
Avoid  the  path— 0  God  !  farewell." 


WIDOW  BEDOTT  TO  ELDER  SNIFFLES. 

0,  REVEREND  sir,  I  do  declare 

It  drives  me  most  to  frenzy, 
To  think  of  you  a  lying  there 

Down  sick  with  influenza. 

A  body'd  thought,  it  was  enough, 
To  mourn  your  wive's  departer, 

Without  sich  trouble  as  this  ere 
To  come  a  follerin'  arter. 

But  sickness  and  affliction 
Are  the  trials  sent  by  a  wise  creation, 

And  always  ought  to  be  underwent 
By  fortitude  and  resignation. 

0,  I  could  to  your  bed-side  fly 
And  wipe  your  weeping  eyes  j 


A    PSALM    OF    THE    UNION.  129 

And  do  my  best  to  cure  you  up 
If  'twouldn't  create  surprise. 

It's  a  world  of  trouble  we  tarry  in, 

But,  Elder,  don't  despair  ; 
That  3rou  may  soon  be  movin'  again. 

Is  constantly  rny  prayer. 

Both  sick  and  well,  you  may  depend 

You'll  never  be  forgot 
By  your  faithful  and  affectionate  friend, 
PRICILLA  POOL  BEDOTT. 


A  PSALM   OF  THE   UNION. 

HARPEKS'  MONTHLY,  Deoember,  1861. 
GOD  of  the  Free  !  upon  thy  breath 

Our  flag  is  for  the  Right  unrolled ; 
Still  broad  and  brave  as  when  its  stars 

First  crowned  the  hallowed  time  of  old ; 
For  Honor  still  its  folds  shall  fly, 

For  Duty  still  their  glories  burn, 
Where  Truth,  Religion,  Freedom  guard 
The  patriot's  sword  and  martyr's  urn. 
Then  shout  beside  thine  oak,  0  North  ! 

0  South !  wave  answer  with  thy  palm  j 
And  in  our  Union's  heritage 

Together  lift  the  Nation's  psalm ! 

How  glorious  is  our  mission  here  ! 

Heirs  of  a  virgin  world  are  we  ; 
The  chartered  lords  whose  lightnings  tame 

The  rocky  mount  and  roaring  sea  : 
We  march,  and  Nature's  giants  own 

The  fetters  of  our  mighty  cars  ; 
We  look,  and  lo  !  a  continent 

Is  crouched  beneath  the  Stripes  and  Stars  ! 
Then  shout  beside  thino  oak,  0  North  ! 
0  South  !  wave  answer  with  thy  palm  ; 


130  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

And  in  our  Union's  heritage 

Together  lift  the  Nation's  psalm; 

No  tyrant's  impious  step  is  ours ; 

No  lust  of  power  on  nations  rolled  : 
Our  Flag — for  friends  a  starry  sky, 

For  foes  a  tempest  every  fold ! 
Oh  !  thus  we'll  keep  our  nation's  life. 

Nor  fear  the  bolt  by  despots  hurled  : 
The  blood  of  all  the  world  is  here, 

And  they  who  strike  us,  strike  the  world. 
Then  shout  beside  thine  oak,  0  North  ! 

0  South  !  wave  answer  with  thy  palm : 
And  in  our  Union's  heritage 

Together  lift  the  Nation's  psalm  ! 

God  of  the  Free  !  our  Nation  bless 

In  its  strong  manhood  as  its  birth  ; 
And  make  its  life  a  Star  of  Hope 

For  all  the  struggling  of  the  Earth  : 
Thou  gav'st  the  glorious  Past  to  us ; 

Oh  !  let  our  Present  burn  as  bright, 
And  o'er  the  mighty  Future  cast 

Truth's,  Honor's,  Freedom's  holy  light ! 
Then  shout  beside  thine  oak,  0  North  ! 

0  South  !  wave  answer  with  thy  palm  ; 
And  in  our  Union's  heritage 

Together  lift  the  Nation's  psalm  ! 


CHARGE  OF  A  DUTCH  MAGISTRATE. 

DE  man  he  killed  vasn't  killed  at  all,  as  vas  broved ;  lie  is 
in  ter  chail,  at  Morristown,  for  sheep  stealing.  Put  dat  ish 
no  matter  ;  te  law  says  vare  ter  is  a  doubt  you  give  him  to 
der  brisoner  ;  put  here  ish  no  doubt,  so,  you  see,  ter  brisoner 
ish  guilty.  I  dinks,  derefore,  Mr.  Foreman,  he  petter  pe 
hung  next  Fourth  of  July, 


STARS   IN    MY    COUNTRY'S    SKY.  131 


STAES  IN  MY  COUNTEY'S  SKY. 

L.    II.    8 

ABB  ye  all  there  1  Are  ye  all  there, 

Stars  of  my  country's  sky  1 
Are  ye  all  there  1     Are  ye  all  there  ? 

In  your  shining  homes  on  high  1 
"  Count  us  !  count  us,"  was  their  answer, 

As  they  dazzled  on  my  view, 
In  glorious  perihelion, 

Amid  their  field  of  blue. 

I  cannot  count  you  rightly ; 

There's  a  cloud  with  sable  rim  ; 
I  cannot  make  your  numbers  out, 

For  my  eyes  with  tears  are  dim. 
Oh  !  bright  and  blessed  angel, 

On  white  wing  floating  by, 
Help  me  to  count,  and  not  to  miss 

One  star  in  my  country's  sky  ! 

Then  the  angel  touched  mine  eyelids, 

And  touched  the  frowning  cloud  ; 
And  its  sable  rim  departed, 

And  it  fled  with  murky  shroud. 
There  was  no  missing  Pleiad, 

'Mid  all  that  sister  race  ; 
The  Southern  Cross  gleamed  radiant  forth, 

And  the  Pole- Star  kept  its  place. 

Then  I  knew  it  was  the  angel 

Who  woke  the  hymning  strain 
That  our  Redeemer's  birth 

Pealed  out  o'er  Bethlehem's  plain ; 
And  still  its  heavenly  key-tone 

My  listening  country  held. 
For  all  her  constellated  stars 

The  diapason  swelled. 


132  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 


BINGEN  ON  THE  EHINE. 

MRS.    CAROLINE   NOBTON. 

A  SOLDIER  of  the  Legion  lay  dying  in  Algiers, 

There  was  lack  of  woman's  nursing,  there  was  dearth  of  woman's 

tears  ; 

But  a  comrade  stood  beside  him,  while  his  life-blood  ebbed  away, 
And  bent,  with  pitying  glances,  to  hear  what  he  might  say : 
The  dying  soldier  faltered,  and  he  took  that  comrade's  hand, 
And  he  said.  "  I  never  more  shall  see  my  own,  my  native  land : 
Take  a  message,  and  a  token,  to  some  distant  friends  of  mine, 
For  I  was  born  at  Bingen, — at  Bingen  on  the  Rhine. 

"  Tell  my  brothers  and  companions,  when  they  meet  and  crowd 

around, 

To  hear  my  mournful  story,  in  the  pleasant  vineyard  ground, 
That  we  fought  the  battle  bravely,  and  when  the  day  was  done, 
Full  many  a  corse  lay  ghastly  pale,  beneath  the  seiting  sun  ; 
And,  'mid  the  dead  and  dying,  were  some  grown  old  in  wars, — 
The  death-wound  on  their  gallant  breasts,  the  last  of  many  scars  ; 
And  some  were  young,  and  suddenly  beheld  life's  morn  decline, — 
And  one  had  come  from  Bingen, — fair  Bingen  on  the  Rhine. 

"  Tell  my  mother,  that  her  other  son  shall  comfort  her  old  age ; 

For  I  was  still  a  truant  bird,  that  thought  his  home  a  cage. 

For  my  father  was  a  soldier,  and  even  as  a  child 

My  heart  leaped  forth  to  hear  him  tell  of  struggles  fierce  and  wild  ; 

And  when  he  died,  and  left  us  to  divide  his  scanty  hoard, 

I  let  them  take  whatever  they  would. — but  kept  my  father's  sword ; 

And  with  boyish  love  I  hung  it  where  the  bright  light  used  to  shine, 

On  the  cottage  wall  at  Bingen, — calm  Bingen  on  the  Rhine. 

"  Tell  ray  sister  not  to  weep  for  me,  and  sob  with  drooping  head. 
When  the  troops  come  marching  home  again,  with  glad  and  gallant 
tread. 


BINGEN    ON    THE    RHINE.  133 

But  to  look  upon  them  proudly,  with  a  calm  and  steadfast  eye, 

For  her  brother  was  a  soldier,  too,  and  not  afraid  to  die  ; 

And  if  a  comrade  seek  her  love,  I  ask  her  in  my  name, 

To  listen  to  him  kindly,  without  regret  or  shame, 

And  to  hang  the  old  sword  in  its  place  (my  father's  sword  and 

mine), 
For  the  honor  of  old  Bingen, — dear  Bingen  on  the  Rhine. 

"  There's  another — not  a  sister  ;  in  the  happy  days  gone  by  ; 
You'd  have  known  her  by  the  merriment  that  sparkled  in  her  eye  ; 
Too  innocent  for  coquetry, — too  fond  for  idle  scorning, — 
0,  friend  !    I  fear   the  lightest   heart   makes   sometimes   heaviest 

mourning ! 

Tell  her  the  last  night  of  my  life  (for  ere  the  moon  be  risen, 
My  body  will  be  out  of  pain,  my  soul  be  out  of  prison), — 
I  dreamed  I  stood  with  her]  and  saw  the  yellow  sunlight  shine 
On  the  vine-clad  hills  of  Bingen, — fair  Bingen  on  the  Rhine. 

"  I  saw  the  blue  Rhine  sweep  along, — I  heard,  or  seemed  to  hear, 

The  German  songs  we  used  to  sing,  in  chorus  sweet  and  clear  ; 

And  down  the  pleasant  river,  and  up  the  slanting  hill, 

The  echoing  chorus  sounded,  through  the  evening  calm  and  still ; 

And  her  glad  blue  eyes  were  on  me,  as  we  passed  with  friendly  talk, 

Down  many  a  path  beloved  of  yore,  and  well-remembered  walk ! 

And  her  little  hand  lay  lightly,  confidingly  in  mine. — 

But  we'll  meet  no  more  at  Bingen, — loved  Bingen  on  the  Rhine." 

* 
His  trembling  voice  grew  faint  arid  hoarse, — his  grasp  was  childish 

weak, — 

His  eyes  put  on  a  dying  look, — he  sighed  and  ceased  to  speak ; 
His  comrade  bent  to  lift  him,  but  the  spark  of  life  had  fled, — 
The  soldier  of  the  Legion  in  a  foreign  land  is  dead  ! 
And  the  soft  moon  rose  up  slowly,  and  calmly  she  looked  down 
On  the  red  sand  of  the  battle-field,  with  bloody  corses  strewn  ; 
•Yes,  calmly  on  that  dreadful  scene  her  pale  light  seemed  to  shine, 
As  it  shone  on  distant  Bingen, — fair  Bingen  on  the  Rhine. 


134  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 


THE  EELIGIOUS  CHAEACTEE  OF  PEESIDENT 
LINCOLN. 

[The  following  is  taken  from  the  funeral  address  delivered  on  the  occasion  of 
the  obsequies  of  President  Lincoln,  April  19th,  1866,  by  the  Rev.  P.  D.  Gur- 
ley,  D.  D.,  who  was  pastor  of  the  Presbyterian  Church  at  Washington,  which 
Mr.  Lincoln  attended.] 

PROBABLY  no  man  since  the  days  of  Washington  was  ever 
so  deeply  enshrined  in  the  hearts  of  the  American  people  as 
Abraham  Lincoln.  Nor  was  it  a  mistaken  confidence  and 
love.  He  deserved  it  all.  He  deserved  it  by  his  character, 
by  the  whole  tenor,  tone,  and  spirit  of  his  life.  He  was  sim- 
ple, sincere,  plain,  honest,  truthful,  just,  benevolent  and 
kind.  His  perceptions  were  quick  and  clear,  his  judgments 
calm  and  accurate,  purposes  good  and  pure  beyond  all  ques- 
tion. Always  and  everywhere  he  aimed  both  to  be  right 
and  to  do  right.  His  integrity  was  all-pr evading,  all-con- 
trolling, and  incorruptible.  As  the  chief  magistrate  of  a 
great  and  inperilled  people,  he  rose  to  the  dignity  and 
inomentousness  of  the  occasion.  He  saw  his  duty,  and  he 
determined  to  do  his  whole  duty,  seeking  the  guidance  and 
leaning  upon  the  arm  of  Him  of  whom  it  is  written,  "  He 
giveth  power  to  the  faint,  and  to  them  that  have  no  might 
he  increaseth  strength." 

I  speak  what  I  know  when  I  affirm  that  His  guidance  was 
the  prop  on  which  he  humbly  and  habitually  leaned.  It  was 
the  best  hope  he  had  for  himself  and  his  country.  When  he 
was  leaving  his  home  in  Illinois,  and  coming  to  this  city  to 
take  his  seat  in  the  executive  chair  of  a  disturbed  and 
troubled  nation,  he  said  to  the  old  and  tried  friends  who 
gathered  tearfully  around  him  and  bade  him  farewell,  "  I 
leave  you  with  this  request, — pray  for  me."  They  did  pray 
for  him,  and  millions  of  others  prayed  for  him.  Nor  did  they 
pray  in  vain.  Their  prayers  were  heard.  The  answer  shines 
forth  with  a  heavenly  radiance  in  the  whole  course  and  tenor 
of  his  administration,  from  its  commencement  to  its  close. 


RELIGIOUS    CHARACTER    OF    LINCOLN.  135 

God  raised  him  up  for  a  great  and  glorious  mission.  He 
furnished  him  for  his  work  and  aided  him  in  its  accomplish- 
ment. Ho  gave  him  strength  of  mind,  honesty  of  heart,  and 
purity  and  pertinacity  of  purpose.  In  addition  to  these  He 
gave  him  also  a  calm  and  abiding  confidence  in  an  over- 
ruling Providence,  and  in  the  ultimate  triumph  of  truth  and 
righteousness  through  the  power  and  blessing  of  God.  This 
confidence  strengthened  him  in  his  hours  of  anxiety  and 
toil,  and  inspired  him  with  a  calm  and  cheerful  hope  when 
others  were  despondent. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  emphasis  and  the  deep  emotion 
with  which,  in  this  very  room  he  said  to  a  company  of 
clergymen,  who  had  called  to  pay  him  their  respects,  in  the 
darkest  hour  of  our  civil  conflict,  "  Gentlemen,  my  hope  of 
success  in  this  great  and  terrible  struggle  rests  on  that  immu- 
table foundation,  the  justice  and  goodness  of  God.  Even 
now,  when  the  events  seem  most  threatening,  and  the  pros- 
pects dark,  I  still  hope  that  in  some  way  which  man  cannot 
see,  all  will  be  well  in  the  end,  and  that  as  our  cause  is  j  ust, 
God  is  on  our  side.'* 

Such  was  his  sublime  and  holy  faith.  It  was  an  anchor 
to  his  soul  both  sure  and  steadfast.  It  made  him  firm  and 
strong.  It  emboldened  him  in  the  rugged  and  perilous 
pathway  of  duty.  It  made  him  valiant  for  the  right,  for  the 
cause  of  God  and  humanity.  It  held  him  in  steady,  patient, 
and  unswerving  adherence  to  a  policy  which  he  thought, 
and  which  we  all  now  think,  both  God  and  humanity  re- 
quired him  to  adopt. 

We  admired  his  child-like  simplicity,  his  freedom  from 
guile  and  deceit,  his  staunch  and  sterling  integrity,  his  kind 
and  forgiving  temper,  and  his  persistent,  self-sacrificing  de- 
votion to  all  the  duties  of  his  eminent  position.  We  admired 
his  readiness  to  hear  and  consider  the  cause  of  the  poor* 
the  humble,  the  suffering,  and  the  oppressed,  and  his  readi- 
ness to  spend  and  be  spent  for  the  attainment  of  that  great 
triumph,  the  blessed  fruits  of  which  shall  be  as  wide  spread- 
ing as  the  earth,  and  as  enduring  as  the  Bun. 


136  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES.    ' 

All  these  things  commanded  the  admiration  of  the  world, 
and  stamped  upon  his  life  and  character  the  unmistakable 
impress  of  true  greatness.  More  sublime  than  all  these, 
more  holy  and  beautiful,  was  his  abiding  confidence  in  God, 
and  in  the  final  triumph  of  truth  and  righteousness  through 
him  and  for  his  sake.  The  friends  of  liberty  and  the  Union 
will  repair  to  his  consecrated  grave,  through  ages  yet  to 
come,  to  pronounce  the  memory  of  its  occupant  blessed,  and 
to  gather  from  his  ashes  and  the  rehearsal  of  his  virtues  fresh 
incentives  to  patriotism,  and  there  renew  their  vows  of  fidelity 
to  their  country  and  their  God. 


THE  EAYEN. 

E1>GAB   A.    POE. 

ONCE  upon  a  midnight  dreary,  while  I  pondered,  weak  and  weary, 
Over  many  a  quaint  and  curious  yolume  of  forgotten  lore, — 
While  I  nodded,  nearly  napping,  suddenly  there  came  a  tapping, 
As  of  some  one  gently  rapping,  rapping  at  ray  chamber  door. 
"  Tis  some  visitor,"  I  mutter'd,  "  tapping  at  my  chamber  door. 
Only  this,  and  nothing  more." 

Ah,  distinctly  I  remember,  it  was  in  the  bleak  December, 
And  each  separate  dying  ember  wrought  its  ghost  upon  the  floor. 
Eagerly  I  wished  the  morrow  ;  vainly  I  had  sought  to  borrow 
From  my  books  surcease  of  sorrow — sorrow  for  the  lost  Lenore — 
For  the  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  named  Lenore — 
Nameless  here  forever  more. 

And  the  silken,  sad,  uncertain  rustling  of  each  purple  curtain, 
Thrill'd  me — fil?d  me  with  fantastic  terrors  never  felt  before  ; 
So  that  now,  to  sti'l  the  beating  of  my  heart,  I  stood  repeating, 
"  'Tis  some  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  my  chamber  door, — 
Some  late  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  my  chamber  door ; 
That  it  is;  and  nothing  more." 


THE    RAVEN.  137 

Presently  my  soul  grew  stronger  .  hesitating  then  no  longer, 
"  Sir,"  said  I,  "  or  Madam,  truly  your  forgiveness  I  implore  ; 
But  the  fact  is,  I  was  napping,  and  so  gently  you  came  rapping, 
And  so  faintly  you  came  tapping,  tapping  at  my  chamber  door, 
That  I  scarce  was  sure  I  heard  you  " — here  I  open'd  wide  the  door  ; 
Darkness  there,  and  nothing  more. 

Deep  into  that  darkness  peering,  long  I  stood  there,  wondering, 

fearing, 

Doubting,  dreaming  dreams  no  mortal  ever  dared  to  dream  before  ; 
But  the  silence  was  unbroken,  and  the  darkness  gave  no  token, 
And  the  only  word  there'  spoken  was  the  whisper'd  word  "  Lenore  !  " 
This  I  whisper'd,  and  an  echo  murmurd  back  the  word  "  Lenore  !  " 
Merely  this,  and  nothing  more. 

Back  into  the  chamber  turning,  all  my  soul  within  me  burning, 
Soon  again  I  heard  a  tapping,  something  louder  than  before. 
"  Surely,"  said  I,  "  surely  that  is  something  at  my  window-lattice  ; 
Let  me  see  then  what  there  at  is,  and  this  mystery  explore, — 
Let  my  heart  be  still  a  moment,  and  this  mystery  explore  ; — 
'Tis  the  wind,  and  nothing  more." 

Open  then  I  flung  the  shutter,  when,  with  many  a  flirt  and  flutter, 

In  there  stepp'd  a  stately  raven  of  the  saintly  days  of  yore. 

Not  the  least  obeisance  made  he ;  not  an  instant  stopp'd  or  stay'd 

he; 

But,  with  mien  of  lord  or  lady,  perched  above  my  chamber  door, — 
Perch'd  upon  a  bust  of  Pallas,  just  above  my  chamber  door, — 
Perch'd,  and  sat,  and  nothing  more. 

Then  this  ebony  bird  beguiling  my  sad  fancy  into  smiling, 

By  the  grave  and  stern  decorum  of  the  countenance  it  wore, 

"  Though  thy  crest  be  shorne  and  shaven,  thou/'  I  said,  "  art  sure 

no  craven  ; 

Ghastly,  grim,  and  ancient  raven,  wandering  from  the  nightly  shore, 
Tell  me  what  thy  lordly  name  is  on  the  night's  Plutonian  shore  1  " 
Quoth  the  raven,  "  Nevermore  !  " 

Much  I  marvel'd  this  ungainly  fowl  to  here  discourse  so  plainly, 
Though  its  answer  little  meaning — little  relevancy  bore; 


138  RECITATIONS    AXD    DIALOGUES. 

For  we  cnnnot  help  agreeing  that  no  living  human  being 
Ever  yet  was  bless'd  with  seeing  bird  above  his  chamber  door, 
Bird  or  beast  upon  the  sculptured  bust  above  his  chamber  door, 
"With  such  name  as  "  Nevermore  J :> 

But  the  raven,  sitting  lonely  on  the  placid  bust,  spoke  only 
That  one  wo;d,  as  if  his  soul  in  that  one  word  he  dii  outpour. 
Nothing  further  then  he  utter'd — not  a  feather  then  he  flutter'd — 
Till    I  scarcely  more    than    mutter'd,  •'•'  Other   friends   have  flown 

before — 

On  the  morrow  he  will  leave  me,  as  my  hopes  have  flown  before." 
Then  the  bird  said,  "  Nevermo.e  !  " 

•Startled  at  the  stillness,  broken  by  reply  so  aptly  spoken, 
"  Doubtless,"  said  I,  "  what  it  utters  is  its  only  stock  and  store, 
Caught  from  some  unhappy  maste  •,  whom  unmerciful  (.isaster 
Follow'd  fast  an  1  fo  lowed  faster,  till  his  song  one  burden  bore, — 
Till  the  dirges  of  his  hope  that  melancholy  burden  bore, 
Of  "  Nevermore — nevermore  ! '' 

But  the  raven  still  beguiling  all  my  sad  soul  into  smiling, 
Straight  I  wheel'd  a  cushion'd  seat  in  front  of  bird,  and  bust,  and 

door, 

Then,  upon  the  velvet  sinking,  I  betook  myself  to  linking 
Fancy  unto  fancy,  thinking  what  this  ominous  bird  of  yore — 
What  this  grim,  ungainly,  ghastly,  gaunt,  and  ominous  bird  of  yore 

Meant  in  croaking  "  Nevermore  !  " 

This  I  sat  engaged  in  guessing,  but  no  syllable  expressing 
To  the  fowl  whose  fiery  eyes  now  burned  into  my  bosom's  core ; 
This  and  more  I  sat  divining,  with  my  head  at  ease  reclining 
On  the  cushion's  velvet  lining  that  the  lamp-light  gloated  o'er. 
But  whose  velvet  violet  lining,  with  the  lamp-light  gloating  o'er, 
She  shall  press — ah !  nevermore  ! 

Then  methought  the  air  grew  denser,  perfumed  from  an  unseen 

censer, 
Swung  by  seraphim,  whose  foot-falls  tinkled  on  the  tufted  floor. 


THE    RAVEN.  139 

"  Wretch,"  I  cried,  "  thy  God  hath  lent  thee — by  these  angels  he 

hath  sent  thee 

Respite — respite  and  nepenthe  from  the  memories  of  Lenore  ! 
Quaff,  oh  quaff  this  kind  nepenthe,  and  forget  this  lost  Lenore  !  " 

Quoth  the  raven,  "  Nevermore  !  " 

"  Prophet  !  "  said  I,  "  thing  of  evil! — prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil ! 
Whether  tempter  sent,  or  whether  tempest  toss'd  thee  here  ashore, 
Desolate  yet  all  undaunted,  on  this  desert  land  enchanted — 
On  this  home  by  horror  haunted — tell  me  truly,  I  implore — 
Is  there — is  there  balm  in  Gilead  ? — tell  me — tell  me,  I  implore !  " 
Quoth  the  raven,  "  Nevermore  !  " 

*•  Prophet!  "  said  I,  "thing  of  evil ! — prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil ! 
By  that  heaven  that  bends  above  us — by  that  God  we  both  adore, 
Tell  this  soul  with  sorrow  laden,  if,  within  the  distant  Aideun, 
It  shall  clasp  a  sainted  maiden,  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore ; 
Clasp  a  fair  and  radiant  maiden,  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore  !  " 
Quoth  the  raven,  "  Nevermore  ! " 

'•  Be  that  word  our  sign  of  parting,  bird  or  fiend  !  "  I  shrieked, 

upstarting — 

"  Get  thee  back  into  the  tempest  and  the  night's  Plutonian  shore ! 
Leave  no  black  plume  as  a  token  of  that  lie  thy  soul  hath  spoken ! 
Leave  my  loneliness  unbroken  ! — quit  the  bust  above  my  door  ! 
Take  thy  beak  from  out  my  heart,  and  take  thy  form  from  off  my 
door !  " 

Quoth  the  raven,  "  Nevermore  !  " 

And  the  raven,  never  flitting,  still  is  sitting,  still  is  sitting 
On  the  pallid  bust  of  Pallas,  just  above  my  chamber  door  ; 
And  his  eyes  have  all  the  seeming  of  a  demon  that  is  dreaming, 
And  the  lamp-light  o'er  him  streaming  throws  his  shadow  on  the 

floor ; 
And  my  soul  from  out  that  shadow  that  lies  floating  on  the  floor, 

Shall  be  lifted — nevermore  ! 


140  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 


THE  LOYAL   LEGION. 

COLONEL  CHAS.  G.  HALPIXE  (MILES  O'BIELLT). 

[This  poem  was  read  at  the  festival  in  honor  of  Washington's  Birthday,  given 
by  the  Military  Order  of  the  Loyal  Legion  in  Philadelphia,  Feb.  22d,  1866.] 

FOREVER  past  the  days  of  gloom, 

The  long,  sad  days  of  doubt  arid  fear, 
When  woman,  by  her  idle  loom, 
Heard  the  dread  battle's  nearing  boom 

With  clasped  hands  and  straining  ear  ; 
While  each  new  hour  the  past  pursues 

With  further  threat  of  loss  and  pain, 
Till  the  sick  senses  would  refuse 
To  longer  drink  the  bloody  news 

That  told  of  sons  and  brothers  slain. 

The  days  of  calm  at  length  are  won, 

And,  sitting  thus,  with  folded  hands, 
We  talk  of  great  deeds  greatly  done, 
While  all  the  future  seems  to  run 

A  silvery  tide  o'er  golden  sands. 
With  pomp  the  votive  sword  and  shield 

The  saviors  of  the  land  return  ; 
And  while  new  shrines  to  Peace  wre  build, 
On  our  great  banner's  azure  field 

Yet  larger  constellations  burn  ! 

Who  bore  the  flag — who  won  the  day  7 

The  young  proud  manhood  of  the  land, 
Called  from  the  forge  and  plow  away, 
They  seized  the  weapons  of  the  fray 

With  eager  but  untutored  hand  ; 
They  swarmed  o'er  all  the  roads  that  led 

To  where  the  peril  hottest  burned — 
By  night,  by  day,  their  hurrying  tread 
Still  southward  to  the  struggle  sped, 

Nor  ever  from  their  purpose  turned. 


THE    LOYAL    LEGION.  141 

Why  tell  how  long  the  contest  hung, 

Now  crowned  with  hope  and  now  depressed, 
And  how  the  varying  balance  swung, 
Until,  like  gold  in  furnace  flung, 

The  truth  grew  stronger  for  the  test  1 
'Twas  our  own  blood  we  had  to  meet ; 

'Twas  with  full  peers  our  swords  were  crossed 
Till  in  the  march,  assault,  retreat, 
And  in  the  school  of  stern  defeat 

We  learned  success  at  bloody  cost. 

Oh,  comrades  of  the  camp  and  deck  ! 

All  that  is  left  by  pitying  Fate 
Of  those  who  bore  through  fire  and  wreck, 
With  sinewy  arm  and  stubborn  neck 

His  flag  whose  birth  we  celebrate ! 
Oh,  men,  whose  names,  forever  bright 

On  history's  golden  tablets  graved — 
By  land,  by  sea  who  waged  the  fight, 
What  guerdon  will  you  ask  to-night 

For  service  done,  for  perils  braved  1 

The  charging  lines  no  more  we  see, 

No  more  we  hear  the  din  of  strife  ; 
Nor  under  every  greenwood  tree, 
Stretched  in  their  life's  great  agony. 

Are  those  who  wait  the  surgeon's  knife ; 
No  more  the  dreaded  stretchers  drip, 

The  jolting  ambulances  groan  ; 
No  more,  while  all  the  senses  slip, 
We  hear  from  the  soon  silent  lip 

The  prayer  for  death  as  balm  alone  ! 

And  ye  who,  on  the  sea's  blue  breast, 

And  down  the  rivers  of  the  land, 
With  clouds  of  thunder  as  a  crest, 
Where  still  your  conquering  prows  were  pressed — 

War's  lightnings  wielded  in  vour  hand  ! 


142  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

Ye,  too,  released,  no  longer  feel 

The  threat  of  battle,  storm  and  rock — 

Torpedoes  grating  on  the  keel. 

While  the  strained  sides  with  broadsides  reel, 
And  turrets  feel  the  dinting  shock. 

Joint  saviors  of  the  land  !     To-day 

What  guerdon  ask  you  of  the  land  ? 
No  boon  too  great  for  you  to  pray — 
What  can  it  give  that  could  repay 

The  men  we  miss  from  our  worn  band  7 
The  men  who  lie  in  trench  and  swamp, 

The  dead  who  rock  beneath  the  wave — 
The  brother-souls  of  inarch  and  camp, 
Bright  spirits — each  a  shining  lamp, 

Teaching  our  children  to  be  brave  ! 

And  thou — Great  Shade !  in  whom  was  nursed 

The  germ  and  grandeur  of  our  land — 
In  peace,  in  war,  in  reverence  first, 
Who  taught  our  infancy  to  burst 

The  tightening  yoke  of  Britain's  hand  ! 
Thou,  too,  from  thy  celestial  height 

Will  join  the  prayer  we  make  to-day — 
"  Homes  for  the  crippled  in  the  fight, 
And,  what  of  life  is  left,  made  bright 

By  all  that  gratitude  can  pay." 

Teach  these  who  loll  in  gilded  seats, 

With  nodding  plume  and  jewelled  gown, 
Boasting  a  pedigee  that  dates 
Back  to  the  men  who  swayed  the  fates 

When  thou  wert  battling  Britain's  crown, — 
That  ere  the  world  a  century  swims 

Th1  ough  time — this  poor,  blue-coated  host, 
With  brevet-rank  of  shattered  limbs, 
Will  swell  the  fame  in  choral  hymns 

And  be  of  pride  tlv  p  ondpst  bonst ! 


THE    LOYAL    LEGION.  143 

Homes  for  the  heroes  we  implode, 
The  brave  who  limbs  and  vigor  gave, 

That — North  and  South,  from  shore  to  shore 

One  free,  rich,  boundless  country  o'er — 
The  flag  of  Washington  might  wave  ; 

The  flag  that  first— the  day  recall- 
Long  years  ago,  one  summer  morn, 

Flashed  up  o'er  Independence  Hall, 

A  meteor-messenger  to  all 

That  a  new  Nation  here  was  born  ! 

Oh,  wives  and  daughters  of  the  land ! 

To  every  gentler  impuls  >  true, 
To  you  we  raise  the  invoking  hand, 
Take  pity  on  our  stricken  band, 

These  demi-gods  disguis  d  in  blue ! 
More  sweet  than  coo  of  pairing  birds 

Your  voice  when  urging  gentle  deeds, 
And  power  and  beauty  clothe  her  words — 
A  west  wind  through  the  heart's  thrilled  chords 

When  woman's  voice,  for  pity  pleads. 

To  you  I  leave  the  soldier's  doom, 

Your  glistening  eyes  assure  me  right ; 
Oh,  think  through  many  a  night  of  gloom, 
When  round  you  all  was  light  and  bloom, 

And  he  preparing  for  the  light — 
The  soldier  bade  his  fancy  roam 

Far  from  the  foe's  battalions  proud — 
From  camps,  and  hot  steeds  champing  foam, 
And  fondly  on  your  breast  at  home 

The  forehead  of  his  spirit  bowed  ! 

Oh,  by  the  legions  of  the  dead, 

Whose  ears  even  yet  our  love  may  reach — 

Whose  souls,  in  fight  or  prison  fled, 

Now  swarm  in  column  overhead, 

Winging  with  fire  my  faltering  speech  ; — 


144  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

From  stricken  fields  and  ocean  caves 

I  hear  their  voice  and  cry  instead — 
"  Gazing  upon  our  myriad  graves, 
Be  generous  to  the  crippled  braves 
Who  were  the  comrades  of  the  dead  !  " 

Our  cause  was  holy  to  the  height 

Of  holiest  cause  to  manhood  given  ; 
For  Peace  and  Liberty  to  smite, 
And  while  the  warm  blood  bounded  bright. 

For  these  to  die,  if  called  by  Heaven  ! 
The  dead  are  cared  for — in  the  clay 

The  grinning  skull  no  laurel  seeks ; 
But  for  the  wounded  of  the  fray 
It  is  through  my  weak  lips  to-day 

The  ORDER  OF  THE  LEGION  speaks ! 


AGNES  AND  THE  YEAES. 

CELTA   M.    BURR. 

<*  MAIDEN  Agnes,"  said  the  Year  in  going, 
"  What  the  message  I  shall  bear  from  thee 

To  the*  angels,  who  with  love  past  knowing 
Fed  the  life-lamp  of  thy  infancy  7 

When  I  reach  them  they  will  murmur  low, 

1  What  of  our  Agnes  doth  thy  record  show  1 '  " 

"  Tell  them,  tell  them  that  beside  the  sea 

I  wait  a  passage  to  the  Land  of  Morn  ; 
For  Hope  has  said,  that  o'er  the  waves  to  me 

A  goodly  vessel  by  the  winds  is  borne ; 
To  waft  me  proudly  to  that  sunny  land 
Where  all  the  castles  of  my  dreaming  stand. 

"  Day  after  day  I  watch  the  ships  go  by, 

And  strain  my  eyes  across  the  restless  deep, 

Where,  dimly  pictured  'gainst  the  summer  sky, 
The  Hills  of  Morning  in  their  beauty  sleep. 


AGNES  AND  THE  YEARS.          145 

But  look  !  even  now  across  the  shining  sea 
The  ship  of  promise  bearing  down  for  me." 

"  Woman  Agnes,  on  the  wreck-strewn  shore, 

When  the  angels  of  thy  infancy 
Ask  if  homeward  turn  thy  steps  once  more, 

What,  I  pray  thee,  shall  my  answer  be  1 
1  Tell  us,  tell  us,'  they  will  say,  '  0,  Year, 
Draws  the  loved  one  unto  us  more  near  1 '  " 

"  Leave  me,  leave  me  :  all  is  lost — is  lost ! 

My  goodly  ship  is  crumbled  in  the  deep  ; 
My  trusted  helmsman  in  the  breakers  tossed  ; 

All's  wrecked,  ail's  wasted,  e'en  the  power  to  weep. 
The  mocking  waves  toss  scornfully  ashore 
The  ruined  treasures  that  are  mine  no  more. 

"  Leave  me  alone,  to  pore  upon  the  waves, 
Whitened  with  upturned  faces  of  the  dead ; 

Earth  for  such  corpses  has,  alas  !  no  graves  ; 
No  holy  priest  has  requiescat  saii. 

There's  nothing  left  me  but  the  bitter  sea ; 

God  and  his  angels  have  forgotten  me.'7 

"  Christian  Agnes,  in  the  firelight  dreaming, 

What  the  message  I  shall  bear  from  thee 
To  the  angels,  whose  soft  eyes  are  beaming 

From  the  portal  where  they  watch  for  me  7 
1  Is  she  coming  1 '  they  will  say  ;  f  0,  Year, 
Draw  her  footsteps  to  the  Homeland  near  ?  '  " 

"  This  the  message — that  I  sit  no  more 

With  eyes  bent  idly  on  the  Hills  of  Morn, 
That  in  the  tempest,  on  the  wreck-strewn  shore, 

A  holier  purpose  to  my  soul  was  born. 
Give  leave  to  labor,  was  the  prayer  I  said, 
Leaving  the  dead  past  to  inter  its  dead. 

"  And  it  was  granted.     By  my  hearth  to-night, 
Tell  the  beloved  ones,  I  sit  alone, 


146  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

But  not  unhappy ;  for  the  morning  light 

Will  show  my  pathway  with  its  uses  strewn. 
Happy  in  labor,  say  to  them,  0,  Year, 
I  wait  the  Sabbath,  which  I  trust  draws  near." 


CATILINE'S  DEFIANCE. 

CKOLT. 

BANISHED  from  Rome  !  What's  banished  but  set  free 
From  daily  contact  of  the  things  I  loathe  ? 
"  Tried  and  convicted  traitor  !  " — Who  says  this  7 
Who'll  prove  it  at  his  peril,  on  my  head  1 
Banished  ?  I  thank  you  for't !  It  breaks  my  chains  ! 
I  held  some  slack  allegiance  till  this  hour, 
But  now  my  sword's  my  own.     Smile  on,  my  lords ! 
I  scorn  to  count  what  feelings,  withered  hopes, 
Strong  provocations,  bitter,  burning  wrongs. 
I  have  within  my  heart's  hot  cells  shut  up, 
To  leave  you  in  your  lazy  dignities  ! 
But  here  I  stand  and  scoff  you ! — here  I  fling 
Hatred  and  full  defiance  in  your  face  ! 
Your  consul's  merciful.     For  this,  all  thanks  ! 
He  dates  not  touch  a  hair  of  Catiline  ! 
****** 
"Traitor  !  "  I  go,— but  I  return  !  This  trial ! 
Here  I  devote  your  senate  ! — I've  had  wrongs, 
To  stir  a  fever  in  the  blood  of  age, 
And  make  the  infant's  sinews  strong  as  steel, 
This  day's  the  birth  of  sorrow  !  This  hour's  work 
Will  breed  proscriptions !  Look  to  your  hearths,  my  lords  ! 
For  there  henceforth  shall  sit  for  household  gods, 
Shapes  hot  from  Tartarus  !  all  shames  and  crimes  ; 
Wan  Treachery,  with  his  thirsty  dagger  drawn  ; 
Suspicion,  poisoning  his  brother's  cup ; 
Naked  Rebellion,  with  the  torch  and  axe, 
Making  his  wild  sport  of  your  blazing  thrones, 
Till  Anarchy  come  down  on  you  like  night, 
And  Massacre  seals  Rome's  eternal  grave! 


OUR    FOLKS.  147 


CUE  FOLKS. 

NOTE. — The  following  beautiful  a:id  touching-  lines  were  taken  from  the 

*  knapsack  of  a  Union  soldier,  who  was  found  dead,  upon  the  battle-Held  of 

Hatcher's  Bun,  Ya.,  in  Nov.,  1864.    The  original  manuscript,  torn  and  defaced, 

was  presented  to  Major  BARTON  by  Colonel  EDWARD  HILL,  of  the  Sixteenth 

Michigan  Infantry.    The  author  is  unknown. 

Hi !  Harry  !  Hallie  !  Halt,  and  tell 

A  soldier  just  a  thing  or  two ; 
You've  had  a  furlough  !  been  to  see 

How  all  the  folks  in  Jersey  do  ;  — 
It's  a  year  agone  since  I  was  there, 

I,  and  a  bullet  from  Fair  Oaks. 
Since  you've  been  home,  old  comrade,  true, 

Say,  did  you  see  any  of  "  our  folks  1  " 
You  did  ?     Shake  hands  !     Oh,  ain't  I  glad  ! 

For  if  I  do  look  grim  and  rough, 
I've  got  some  feeling. — People  think 

A  soldier's  heart  is  mighty  tough  ! 
But,  Harry,  when  the  bullets  fly, 

(And  hot  saltpetre  flames  and  smokes  ! 
And  whole  battalions  lie  a-field  ! 

One's  apt  to  think  about  his  folks. 
And  so  you  saw  them  !  When  and  where  7 

The  old  man  !     Is  he  lively  yet  ? 
And  mother  —does  she  fade  at  all, 

Or  does  she  seem  to  pine  and  fret  for  me  ? 
And  little  "  sis,"  has  she  grown  tall  1 

And  then,  you  know,  her  friend,  that 
Annie  Ross How  this  pipe  chokes  : • 

Come,  Hal,  and  tell  me,  like  a  man, 
All  the  news  about  our  folks. 

You  saw  them  at  the  church,  you  say ;  . 
It's  likely  ;  for  they're  always  there 

On  Sunday.     What!     No!     A  funeral! 
Who  1  Why,  Harry,  how  you  halt  and  stare ! 

And  all  were  well,  and  all  were  out  1 
Come,  surely,  this  can't  be  a  hoax ! 


148  RECITATIONS   AND   DIALOGUES. 

Why  don't  you  tell  me,  like  a  man, 
What  is  the  matter  with  our  folks  1  " 

***** 
"  I  said  all  well,  old  comrade  dear, 

I  say  all  well !  for  He  knows  best, 
Who  takes  His  young  lambs  in  His  arms 

Before  the  sun  sinks  in  the  West. 
The  soldier's  stroke  deals  left  and  right, 

But  flowers  fall  as  well  as  oaks — 
And  so,  fair  Annie  blooms  no  more : 

And  that's  the  matter  with  '  your  folks.' 
Here's  this  long  curl,  'twas  sent  to  you, 

And  this  fair  blossom,  from  her  breast, 
And  here — your  sister  Bessie  wrote 

This  letter  telling  all  the  rest. 
Bear  up,  old  friend/' nobody  speaks ! 

Only  the  dull  camp  raven  croaks 
And  soldiers  whisper,  "boys  be  still! 

There's  some  bad  news  from  Granger's  folks  ! ' 
He  turned  his  back  upon  his  grief 

And  sadly  strove  to  hide  the  tears 
Kind  nature  sends  to  woe's  relief. 

Then  answered,  "Ah,  well!  Hal,  I'll  try; 
But  in  my  throat  there's  something  chokes 

Because,  you  see,  I'd  thought  so  long 
To  count  her  in  among  our  folks. 

All  may  be  well ;  but  yet, 
I  can't  help  thinking,  too, 

I  might  have  kept  this  trouble  off 

By  being  gentle,  kind  and  true  ! — 
But  may  be  not.     She's  safe  up  there ; 

And  when  His  hand  deals  other  strokes 
She'll  stand  at  Heaven's  gate,  I  know, 

To  Wait  and  welcome  "  our  folks." 


THE    BEAUTIFUL    SNOW  149 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  SNOW. 

JAMES   WATSON. 

0,  THE  snow,  the  beautiful  snow, 
Filling  the  sky  and  the  earth  below; 
Over  the  housetop,  over  the  street, 
Over  the  heads  of  the  people  you  meet, 
Dancing, 

Flirting, 

Skimming  along, 

Beautiful  snow  !  it  can  do  no  wrong, 
Flying  to  kiss  a  fair  lady's  cheek, 
Clinging  to  lips  in  a  frolieksome  freak  ; 
Beautiful  snow  from  the  heavens  above, 
Pure  as  an  angel,  gentle  as  love. 

0,  the  snow,  the  beautiful  snow, 
How  the  flakes  gather  and  laugh  as  they  go ! 
Whirling  about  in  its  maddening  fun, 
It  plays  in  glee  with  every  one. 
Chasing,. 

Laughing, 

Hurling  by, 

It  lights  on  the  face  and  it  sparkles  the  eye. 
And  even  the  dogs,  with  a  bark  and  a  bound, 
Snap  at  the  crystals  that  eddy  around, 
The  town  is  alive,  and  the  heart  is  aglow, 
To  welcome  the  coming  of  beautiful  snow  ! 

How  the  wild  crowd  goes  swaying  along, 
Hailing  each  other  with  humor  and  song ! 
How  the  gay  sledges,  like  meteors,  flash  by, 
Bright  for  a  moment,  then  lost  to  the  eye  ; 
Ringing, 

Swinging, 

Dashing  they  go, 

Over  the  crust  of  the  beautiful  snow  ; 
Snow  so  pure  when  it  falls  from  the  sky, 
To  be  trampled  in  mud  by  the  crowd  rushing  by, 


150  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

To  be  trampled  and  tracked  by  the  thousands  of  feet, 
Till  it  blends  with  the  filth  in  the  horrible  street. 

Once  I  was  pure  as  the  snow — but  I  fell .' 
Fell,  like  the  snow-flakes,  from  heaven  to  hell ; 
Fell  to  be  trampled  as  filth  in  the  street, 
Fell  to  be  scoffed,  to  be  spit  on  and  beat ; 
Pleading, 
Cursing, 

Dreading  to. die, 

Selling  my  soul  to  whoever  would  buy, 
Dealing  in  shame  for  a  morsel  of  bread. 
Merciful  God  !  have  I  fallen  so  low  ? 
And  yet  I  was  once  like  the  beautiful  snow. 

Once  I  was  fair  as  the  beautiful  snow, 
With  an  eye  like  a  crystal,  a  heart  like  its  glow  • 
Once  I  was  loved  for  my  innocent  grace — 
Flattered  and  sought  for  the  charms  of  my  face. 
Father, 

Mother, 

Sister  and  all, 

God  and  myself  lost  by  the  fall. 
The  veriest  wretch  that  goes  shivering  by, 
Will  take  a  wide  sweep  least  I  wander  too  nigh  ; 
For  all  that  is  honor  about  me,  I  know 
There  is  nothing  that's  pure  as  the  beautiful  snow. 

How  strange  it  should  be  that  this  beautiful  snow 
Should  fall  on  a  sinner  with  no  where  to  go; 
How  strange  it  would  be  when  the  night  comes  again, 
If  the  snow  and  the  ice  struck  my  desperate  brain. 
Fainting, 

Freezing, 

Dying  alone, 

Too  wicked  for  prayer,  too  weak  for  a  moan ; 
Too  sad  to  be  heard  in  the  crazy  town, 
Gone  mad  in  joy  of  the  snow  coming  down, 
To  lie  and  die  in  my  terrible  woe, 
With  a  bed  and  a  shroud  of  the  beautiful  snow. 


THE    AMBITIOUS    YOUTH.  151 

THE  AMBITIOUS  YOUTH. 


THE  scene  opens  with  a  view  of  the  great  Natural  Bridge 
In  Virginia.  There  are  two  or  three  lads  standing  in.  the 
channel  below,  looking  up  with  awe  to  that  vast  arch  of 
unhewn  rocks,  which  the  Almighty  bridged  over  those  ever- 
lasting abutments,  "  when  the  morning  stars  sang  to- 
gether." The  little  piece  of  sky  that  is  spanning  those 
measureless  piers  is  full  of  stars,  though  it  is  mid-day.  It 
is  a  thousand  feet  from  where  they  stand,  up  those  perpen- 
dicular bulwarks  of  limestone,  to  the  key  rock  of  that  vast 
arch  which  appears  to  them  only  of  the^ize  of  a.  man's  hand. 
The  silence  of  death  is  rendered  more  impressive  by  the 
little  stream  that  falls  from  rock  to  rock  down  the  channel, 
where  once  the  waters  of  a  Niagara  may  have  rushed  in 
their  fury. 

The  sun  is  darkened,  and  the  boys  have  uncovered  their 
heads  instinctively,  as  if  standing  in  the  presence-chamber 
of  the  Majesty  of  the  whole  earth.  At  last  this  feeling  of 
awe  wears  away  ;  they  begin  to  look  around  them  ;  they 
find  that  others  have  been  there  and  looked  up  with  wonder 
to  that  everlasting  arch. 

They  see  the  names  of  hundreds  cut  in  the  limestone 
abutments.  A  new  feeling  comes  over  their  young  hearts, 
and  their  jack-knives  are  in  their  hands  in  an  instant, 
"  "What  man  has  done,  man  can  do,"  is  their  watchword,  and 
fired  with  this  noble  spirit,  they  draw  themselves  up  and 
carve  their  names  above  those  of  a  hundred  tall,  full-grown 
men,  who  have  been  there  before  them. 

They  are  all  satisfied  with  this  exploit  of  physical  exer- 
.tion,  except  one,  whose  example  illustrates  perfectly  the  for- 
gotten truth  that  there  is  no  royal  road  to  intellectual  emi- 
nence. This  ambitious  youth  sees  a  name  just  above  his 
reach—  a  name  that  will  be  green  in  the  memory  of  the 
world  when  those  of  Alexander,  Csesar,  and  Bonaparte  shall 


152  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

rot  in  oblivion.  It  was  the  name  of  WASHINGTON.  Before  he 
marched  with  Braddock  to  that  fatal  field,  lie  had  been  there 
and  left  his  name  a  foot  above  all  his  predecessors.  It  was 
a  glorious  thought  of  the  boy  to  write  his  name  side  by  side 
with  the  great  "Father  of  his  country. /' 

lie  grasps  his  knife  with  a  firmer  hand,  and  clinging  to  a 
little  jutting  crag,  he  cuts  a  gain  into  the  limestone  about  a 
foot  above  where  he  stands  ;  he  then  reaches  up  and  cuts 
another  for  his  hands.  'Tis  a  dangerous  feat,  but,  as  he  puts 
his  feet  and  hands  into  these  gains,  and  draws  himself  up 
carefully  to  his  full  length,  he  finds  himself,  to  his  inexpress- 
ible exultation,  a  foot  above  every  name  that  was  ever  chron- 
icled in  that  mighty  wall. 

While  his  companions  were  regarding  him  with  concern 
and  admiration,  he  cuts  his  name  in  rude  capitals,  large  and 
deep  in  that  flinty  album.  His  knife  is  still  in  his  hand, 
and  strength  in  his  sinews,  and  a  new-created  aspiration 
in  his  heart.  Again  he  cuts  another  niche,  and  again  he 
carves  his  name  in  large  capitals.  This  is  not  enough. 
Heedless  of  the  entreaties  of  his  companions,  he  cuts  and 
climbs  again.  The  graduations  of  his  ascending  scale  grow 
wider  apart.  He  measures  his  length  at  every  gain,  and 
marks  his  ascent  with  larger  capitals,  and  stronger  hiero- 
glyphics. The  voices  of  his  friends  wax  weaker  and  weaker, 
and  their  words  are  finally  lost  on  his  ear. 

He  npw,  for  the  last  time,  casts  a  look  beneath  him.  Had 
that  glance  lasted  a  moment,  that  moment  would  have  been 
his  last.  He  clings  with  a  convulsive  shudder  to  his  little 
niche  of  rock.  An  awful  abyss,  such  a  precipice  as  Golster's 
son  depicted  to  his  blind  father,  awaits  his  almost  certain 
fall.  He  is  faint  from  severe  exertion,  and  trembling  from 
the  sudden  view  of  the  dreadful  destruction  to  which  he  is 
exposed.  His  knife  is  worn  half-way  to  the  haft.  He  can 
hear  the  voices,  but  not  the  words  of  his  terror-stricken 
companions  below.  What  a  moment !  What  a  meager 
chance  to  escape  destruction.  There  is  no  retracing  his 
steps.  It  is  impossible  to  put  his  hands  in  the  same  niche 


THE    AMBITIOUS    YOUTH.  153 

with  his  feet,  and  retain  his  slender  hold  for  a  moment.  His 
companions  instantly  perceive  this  new  and  fearful  dilemma, 
and  await  his  fall  with  emotions  that  "  freeze  their  young 
blood." 

He  is  too  high,  too  faint,  to  ask  for  his  father  and  mother, 
his  brother  and  sister  to  come  and  witness  or  avert  his  de- 
struction. But  one  of  his  companions  anticipates  his  desire  ; 
he  knows  what  yearnings  come  over  the  human  heart  when 
the  King  of  Terrors  shakes  his  swords  at  his  victim  at  any 
time  or  place.  Swift  as  the  wind  he  bounds  down  the  chan- 
nel, and  the  situation  of  the  fated  boy  is  told  upon  his 
father's  hearthstone. 

Minutes  of  almost  eternal  length  roll  on,  and  then  there 
are  hundreds  standing  in  the  rocky  channel,  and  hundreds 
oil  the  bridge  above,  all  holding  their  breath,  and  awaiting 
the  affecting  catastrophe. 

The  poor  boy  hears  the  hum  of  new  and  numerous  voices, 
both  above  and  below.  He  can  just  distinguish  the  tones 
of  his  father,  who  is  shouting  with  all  the  energy  of  despair, 
"  William !  William !  don't  look  down.  Your  mother  and 
Henry  and  Harriet  are  all  here  praying  for  you  Don't  look 
down — keep  your  eye  toward  the  top ! "  The  boy  did  not 
look  down.  His  eye  is  fixed  like  a  flint  toward  Heaven,  and 
his  young  heart  on  Him  who  reigns  there.  He  grasps  again 
his  knife.  He  cuts  another  niche,  and  another  foot  is  added 
to  the  hundreds  that  remove  him  from  the  reach  of  human 
help  below.  How  carefully  he  uses  his  wasting  blade! 
How  anxiously  he  selects  the  softest  places  in  that  vast  pier  ! 
How  he  avoids  every  flinty  grain !  How  he  economizes  his 
physical  powers,  resting  a  moment  at  each  gain  he  cuts  ! 

How  every  motion  is  watched  from  below !  There  stand 
his  father,  mother,  brother  and  sister  on  the  very  spot  where, 
if  he  falls,  he  will  not  fall  alone. 

The  sun  is  now  half  way  down  the  west.  The  lad  has 
made  fifty  additional  niches  in  that  mighty  \vall,  and  now 
finds  himself  directly  under  the  middle  of  that  vast  arch 
of  rocks  and  earth  and  trees. 


154  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

Ho  must  now  cut  his  wny  in  a  new  direction  to  get  from 
under  this  overhanging  mountain.  The  inspiration  of  hope 
is  flickering  out  in  his  bosom  ;  its  vital  heat  is  fired  by  the 
increasing  shouts  of  hundreds  perched  upon  clifis  and  trees, 
and  others  who  .stand  with  ropes  in  their  hands,  above,  cr 
with  ladders  below.  Fifty  gains  more  must  be  cut  before 
the  longest  rope  can  reach  him.  His  wasting  blade  strikes 
again  into  the  limestone.  A  spy-glass  below  watches  and 
communicates  to  the  multitude  every  mark  of  that  faithful 
knife.  The  boy  is  emerging  painfully,  foot  by  foot,  from 
under  that  lofty  arch.  Spliced  ropes  are  ready  in  the  hands 
of  those  who  are  leaning  over  the  outer  edge  of  the  bridge. 
Two  minutes  more  and  all  will  be  over.  That  blado  is  worn 
up  to  the  last  half  inch.  The  boy's  head  reels,  his  eyes  are 
starting  from  their  sockets;  his  last  hope  is  dying  in  his 
breast ;  his  life  must  hang  upon  the  next  gain  he  cuts. 

At  the  last  faint  gash  he  makes,  his  knife,  his  faithful  knife, 
drops  from  his  little  nerveless  hand,  and,  ringing  along 
down  the  precipice,  falls  at  his  mother's  feet.  An  involun- 
tary groan  of  despair  runs,  like  a  death  knell,  through  the 
channel  below,  and  then  all  is  still  as  the  grave.  At  the 
height  of  nearly  a  thousand  feet  the  devoted  boy  lifts  his 
hopeless  heart,  and  closing  his  eyes,  commends  his  soul  to 
God. 

While  he  thus  stands  for  a  moment  reeling,  trembling,  top- 
pling over  into  eternity,  a  shout  from  above  falls  on  his  ear. 
The  man  who  is  lying  with  half  his  body  projecting  over  the 
bridge,  has  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  boy's  shoulders,  and  a 
smothered  exclamation  of  joy  bursts  from  his  lips.  Quick  as 
thought  the  noosed  ropa  is  within  reach  of  the  sinking  youth. 
No  one  breathes ;  half-unclosing  his  eyes,  and  with  faint, 
convulsive  effort,  the  boy  drops  his  arms  through  the  noose. 
Darkness  comes  over  him,  and  with  the  words  "  God  "  and 
"Mother "on  his  lips,  just  loud  enough  to  bo  heard  in 
Heaven,  the  tightening  rope  lifts  him  out  of  his  last  shallow 
niche.  The  hands  of  a  hundred  men,  women  and  children 
aro  pulling  at  that  rope,  and  the  unconscious  boy  is  sus- 


THE    FLAG   OF    WASHINGTON.  155 

pended  and  swaying  over  an  abyss,  which  is  the' closest  rep- 
resentative of  eternity  that  has  yet  been  found  in  height  or 
depth. 

"Not  a  lip  moves  while  he  is  dangling  there  ;  but  when  a 
sturdy  Virginian  draws  up  the  lad,  and  holds  him  up  in  his 
arms  in  view  of  the  trembling  multitude  below,  such  shout- 
ing, such  leaping  for  joy,  such  tears  of  gratitude,  such  notes 
of  gladness  as  went  up  those  unfathomable  barriers,  and 
were  reiterated  and  prolonged  by  the  multitude  above,  were 
alone  akin  to  those  which  angels  make  when  a  straying  soul 
comes  home  to  God. 


THE   FLAG   OF  WASHINGTON. 

F.  W.  GILLETT. 

DEAR  banne:-  of  my  native  land !  ye  gleaming,  silver  stars, 
Broad,  spotless  ground  of  purity,  crossed  with  your  azure  bars — 
Clasped  by  the  hero-father's  hand — watched  over  in  his  might, 
Through  battle-hour  and  day  of  peace,  bright  morn  and  moonless 

night, 

Because,  within  your  clustering  folds,  he  knew  you  surely  bore 
Dear  Freedom's  hope  for  human  souls  to  every  sea  and  shore ! 
0  precious  Flag  !  beneath  whose  folds  such  noble  deeds  are  done — 
The  dear  old  Flag  !  the  starry  Flag  !  the  Flag  of  Washington  ! 

Unfurl,  bright  stripes — shine  forth,  clear  stars — swing  outward  to 

the  breeze — 

Go  bear  your  message  to  the  wilds — go  tell  it  on  the  seas, 
That  poor  men  sit  within  your  shade,  and  rich  men  in  their  pride  — 
Thai  beggar-boys  and  statesmen's  sons  walk  'neath  you,  side  by 

side  ; 

You  guard  the  school-house  on  the  green,  the  church  upon  the  hill, 
And  fold  your  precious  blessings  round  the  cabin  by  the  rill, 
While  weary  hearts  from  every  land  beneath  the  shining  sun 
Find  work,  and  rest,  arid  home  beneath  the  Flag  of  Washington. 

And  never,  never  on  the  earth,  however  brave  they  be, 
Shall  friends  or  foes  bear  down  this  great,  proud  standard  of  the 
Fre«, 


156        RECITATIONS  AND  DIALOGUES. 

Though  theyaround  its  staff  may  pour  red  blood  in  rushing  waves, 
And  build  beneath  its  starry  folds  great  pyramids  of  graves ; 
For  God  looks  out,  with  sleepless  eye,  upon  his  children's  deeds, 
Amd  sees,  through  all  their  good  and  ill,  their  sufferings  and  their 

needs  ; 

And   He  will  watch,  and  He  will  keep,  till  human  rights  have  won, 
The  dear  old  Flag !  the  starry  Flag !  the  Flag  of  Washington  ! 


THE  ABBOT  OF  WALTHAM. 

ANONYMOUS. 

BLUFF  Harry  the  Eighth  was  out  hunting  one  day, 
And  outrode  his  henchman,  and  then  lost  his  way  : 
He  stumbled  and  grumbled,  till  weary  and  late, 
He  came  to  fair  Waltham,  and  knock'd  at  the  gate. 
"  So  ho  !  worthy  father,  a  yeoman  is  here, 
Who  craves  for  a  bed,  and  a  tithe  of  your  cheer." 
So  they  led  him  at  once,  to  the  large  guesten  hall, 
And  summoned  the  abbot,  who  came  to  the  call. 

Now  the  abbot  was  plum]),  ns  an  abbot  should  be. 

He  ordered  a  chine  and  some  good  Malvoisie, 

<!  And,"  quoth  he,  "  honest  yoeman,  now  spare  not,  I  pray, 

No  beef  have  /  tasted  for  many  a  day  ; 

For,  alas  !   1  must  own,  that  except  for  a  bone 

Of  a  capon  or  turkey,  my  appetite's  gone. 

I  would  give  half  my  abbey  for  hunger  like  thine." 

Said  the  King  to  himself,  ''  You  shall  soon  have  a  chine." 

At  sunrise  the  abbot  took  leave  of  his  guest, 
Who,  grace  to  the  beef,  had  enjoyed  a  good  rest, 
But  ere  the  next  sun  in  the  west  had  gone  down, 
The  Abbot  of  Waltham  was  summoned  to  town. 
He  was  lodged  in  the  Tower,  and  there,  day  by  day, 
Fed  on  dry  bread  alone,  till  his  flesh  fell  away, 
When  a  rich  juicy  chine  on  his  table  was  placed, 
And  to  do  it  full  justice  th?  abbot  made  haste. 


ODE   TO    AN    INFANT    SON.  157 

Such  a  dinner  few  abbots  had  certainly  made, 
His  mouth  and  his  teeth  kept  good  time  to  his  blade, 
He  ground  it,  and  found  it  most  excellent  meat, 
And  vow'd  that  a  monarch  would  find  it  a  treat. 
"  Ha!  ha  "  cried  bluff  Harry,  who  entered  his  cell, 
"  I  have  helped  your  digestion,  Lord  Abbot,  right  well. 
Go  home  to  your  monks,  for  your  health  is  now  sure, 
But  half  of  your  abbey  I  claim  for  the  cure  !  " 


ODE  TO  AN  INFANT  SON. 

THOMAS   HOOD. 

THOU  happy,  happy  elf ! 
(But,  stop,  first  let  me  kiss  away  that  tear,) 

Thou  tiny  image  of  myself ! 
(My  love,  he's  poking  peas  into  his  ear,) 
Thou  merry,  laughing  spirit, 
With  spirits,  feather  light, 
Untouched  by  sorrow,  and  unsoiled  by  sin ; 
(My  dear,  the  child  is  swallowing  a  pin  !) 

Thou  little  tricksy  Puck  ! 

With  antic  toys  so  funnily  bestruck, 

Light  as  the  singing  bird  that  rings  the  air, — 

(The  door  !  the  door !  he'll  tumble  down  the  stairs  !) 

Thou  darling  of  thy  sire  ! 

(Why,  Jane,  he'll  set  his  pinafore  afire  !) 

Thou  imp  of  mirth  and  joy  ! 
In  love's  dear  chain  so  bright  a  link, 

Thou  idol  of  thy  parent's  ; — (Hang  the  boy  ! 
There  goes  my  ink.) 

Thou  cherub,  but  of  earth  ; 
Fit  play-fellow  for  fairies,  by  moonlight  pale, 

In  harmless  sport  and  mirth, 
(That  dog  will  bite  him,  if  he  pulls  his  tail !) 

Thou  human  humming-bee,  extracting  honey 
From  every  blossom  in  the  world  that  blows, 


158        RECITATIONS  AND  DIALOGUES. 

Singing  in  youth's  Elysium,  ever  sunny,— 
(Another  tumble!  That's  his  precious  nose!) 
Thy  father's  pride  and  hope  ! 
(He'll  break  that  mirror  with  that  skipping-rope !) 
With  pure  heart  newly  stamped  from  nature's  mint, 
(Where  did  he  learn  that  squint  ?) 

Thou  young  domestic  dove  ! 

(He'll  have  that  ring  off  with  another  shove,) 

Dear  nursling  of  the  hymeneal  nest ! 

(Are  these  torn  clothes  his  best  ?) 

Little  epitome  of  man  ! 

(He'll  climb  upon  the  table,  that's  his  plan,) 

Touch'd  with  the  beauteous  tints  of  dawning  life, 

(He's  got  a  knife  !) 

Thou  enviable  being ! 

No  storms,  no  clouds,  in  thy  blue  sky  foreseeing, 

Play  on,  play  on, 

My  elfin  John  ! 

Toss  the  light  ball,  bestride  the  stick, — 
(I  knew  so  many  cakes  would  make  him  sick  !) 

With  fancies  buoyant  as  the  thistle-down, 
Prompting  the  face  grotesque,  and  antic  brisk, 
With  many  a  lamb-like  frisk  ! 

(He's  got  the  scissors,  snipping  at  your  gown  !) 
Thou  pretty  opening  rose  ! 
(Go  to  your  mother,  child,  and  wipe  your  nose !) 
Balmy  and  breathing  music  like  the  south, 
(He  really  brings  my  heart  into  my  mouth  !) 
Bold  as  the  hawk,  yet  gentle  as  the  dove  ; 
(I'll  tell  you  what,  my  love, 
I  cannot  write  unless  he's  sent  above.) 


THE  SCHOLAB'S   MISSION. 

GEORGE  PUTNAM. 

THE  wants  of  our  time  and  country,  the  constitution  of 
our  modern  society,  our  whole  position,  personal  and  relative, 


THE  SCHOLAR'S  MISSION.  159 

forbid  a  life  of  mero  scholarship  or  literary  pursuits  to  the 
great  majority  of  those  who  go  out  from  our  colleges.  How- 
ever it  may  have  been  in  other  times  and  other  lands,  here 
and  now  but  few  of  our  educated  men  are  privileged 

"  From  the  loopholes  of  retreat 
To  look  upon  the  world,  to  hear  the  sound 
Of  the  great  Babel,  and  not  feel  its  stir." 

Society  has  work  for  us,  and  we  must  go  forth  to  do  it. 
Full  early  and  hastily  we  must  gird  on  the  manly  gown, 
gather  up  the  loose  leaves  and  scanty  fragments  of  our 
youthful  lore,  and  go  out  among  men,  to  act  with  them  and 
for  them.  It  is  a  practical  age ;  and  our  wisdom,  such  as  it 
is,  "  must  strive  and  cry,  and  utter  her  voice  in  the  streets, 
standing  in  the  places  of  the  paths,  crying  in  the  chief  place 
of  concourse,  at  the  entry  of  the  city,  at  the  coming  in  at 
the  doors." 

This  state  of  things,  though  not  suited  to  the  tastes  and 
qualities  of  all,  is  not,  on  the  whole,  to  be  regretted  by  edu- 
cated men  as  such.  It  is  not  in  literary  production  only,  or 
chiefly,  that  educated  mind  finds  lit  expression,  and  fulfils  its 
mission  in  honor  and  beneficence.  In  the  great  theatre  of 
the  world's  affairs  there  is  a  worthy  and  a  sufficient  sphere. 
Society  needs  the  well-trained,  enlarged,  and  cultivated  in- 
tellect of  the  scholar  in  its  midst ;  needs  it  and  welcomes  it, 
and  gives  it  a  place,  or,  by  its  own  capacity,  it  will  take  a 
place  of  honor,  influence,  and  power. 

The  youthful  scholar  has  no  occasion  to  deplore  the  fate 
that  is  soon  to  tear  him  from  his  studies,  and  cast  him  into 
the  swelling  tide  of  life  and  action.  None  of  his  disciplinary 
and  enriching  culture  will  be  lost,  or  useless,  even  there. 
Every  hour  of  study,  every  truth  he  has.  reached,  and  the 
toilsome  process 'by  which  he  reached  it;  the  heightened 
grace,  or  vigor  of  thought  or  speech  he  has  acquired, — all 
shall  tell  fully,  nobly,  if  he  will  give  heed  to  the  conditions. 
And  one  condition — the  prime  one — is,  that  he  be  a  true  man, 
and  recognize  the  obligation  of  a  man,  and  go  forth  with 
heart,  arid  will,  and  every  gift  and  acquirement  dedicated* 


160  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

lovingly  and  resolutely,  to  the  true  and  the  right.  These 
are  the  terms  :  and  apart  from  these  there  is  no  success,  no 
influence  to  be  had,  which  an  ingenuous  mind  can  desire,  or 
which  a  sound  and  far-seeing  mind  would  dare  to  ask. 

Indeed,  it  is  not  an  easy  thing,  nay,  it  is  not  a  possible 
thing,  to  obtain  a  substantial  success  and  an  abiding  influ- 
ence, except  on  these  terms.  A  factitious  popularity,  a  tran- 
sient notoriety,  or,  in  the  case  of  shining  talents,  tlje  doom 
of  a  damning  fame,  may  fall  to  bad  men.  But  an  honored 
name,  enduring  influence,  a  sun  brightening  on  through  its 
circuit,  more  and  more,  even  to  its  serene  setting — this  boon 
of  a  true  success  goes  never  to  intellectual  qualities  alone. 
It  gravitates  slowly,  but  surely,  to  weight  of  character,  to 
intellectual  ability  rooted  in  principle. 


CLAUDE    MELNOTTE'S     APOLOGY    AND     DE- 
FENCE. 

LORD  LYTTON. 

PAULINE,  by  pride 

Angels  have  fallen  ere  thy  time :  by  pride — 
That  sole  alloy  of  thy  most  lovely  mould  — 
The  evil  spirit  of  a  bitter  love 
And  a  revengeful  heart,  had  power  upon  thee. 
From  my  first  years  my  soul  was  filled  with  thee : 
I  saw  thee  midst  the  flowers  the  lowly  boy 
Tended,  unmarked  by  thee— a  spirit  of  bloom, 
And  joy  and  freshness,  as  spring  itself 
Were  made  a  living  thing,  and  wore  thy  shape ! 
I  saw  thee,  and  the  passionate  heart  of  man 
Enter'd  the  breast  of  the  wild-dreaming  boy  ; 
And  from  tliat  hour  I  grew — what  to  the  last 
I  shall  be — thine  adorer  !     Well,  this  love, 
Vain,  frantic— guilty,  if  thou  wilt,  became 
A  fountain  of  ambition  and  bright  hope ; 
I  thought  of  tales  that  by  the  winter  hearth 
Old  gossips  tell — how  maidens  sprung  from  kings 
Have  stoop'd  from  their  high  sphere  ;  how  Love,  like  Death, 


CLAUDE  MELNOTTE'S  APOLOGY  AND  DEFENCE.  161 

Levels  all  ranks,  and  lays  the  shepherd's  crook 

Beside  the  sceptre.     Thus  I  made  my  home 

In  the  soft  palace  of  a  fairy  Future  ! 

My  father  died ;  and  I,  the  peasant-born, 

Was  my  own  lord.     Then  did  I  seek  to  rise 

Out  of  the  prison  of  my  mean  estate  ; 

And,  with  such  jewels  as  the  exploring  mind 

f  rings  from  the  caves  of  Knowledge,  buy  my  ransom 
rom  those  twin  jailers  of  the  daring  heart — 
Low  birth  and  iron  fortune.     Thy  bright  image, 
Glass'd  in  my  soul,  took  all  the  hues  of  glory, 
And  lured  me  on  to  those  inspiring  toils 
By"  which  man  masters  men !     For  thee,  I  grew 
A  midnight  student  o'er  the  dreams  of  sages  ! 
For  thee,  I  sought  to  borrow  from  each  Grace, 
And  every  Muse,  such  attributes  as  lend 
t       Ideal  charms  to  Love.     I  thought  of  thee, 
And  passion  taught  me  poesy, — of  thee, 
And  on  the  painter's  canvas  grew  the  life 
Of  beauty  ! — Art  became  the  shadow 
Of  the  dear  starlight  of  thy  haunting  eyes  ! 
Men  called  me  vain — some,  mad — I  heeded  not ; 
But  still  toil'd  on — hoped  on, — for  it  was  sweet, 
If  not  to  win;  to  feel  more  worthy,  thee  ! 
******* 
At  last,  in  one  mad  hour,  I  dared  to  pour 
The  thoughts  that  burst  their  channels  into  song, 
And  sent  them  to  thee — such  a  tribute,  lady, 
As  beauty  rarely  scorns — even  from  the  meanest. 
The  name — appended  by  the  burning  heart 
That  long'd  to  show  its  idol  what  bright  things 
It  had  created — yea,  the  enthusiast's  name, 
That  should  have  been  thy  triumph,  was  thy  scorn ! 
That  very  hour — when  passion,  turn'd  to  wrath, 
Resembled  hatred  most — when  thy  disdain 
Made  my  whole  suiil  a  chaos — in  that  hour 
The  tempters  found  me  a  revengeful  tool 
For  their  revenge  !     Thou  hadst  tran  pled  on  the  worm — 
It  turned,  and  stung  thee  ! 


162  RECITATIONS   AND    DIALOGUES. 

• 

THE  FOKGING  OF  THE  ANCHOR 

SAMUEL  FEKGUSSON,    Q.  C. 

COME,  see  the  Dolphin's  anchor  forged  ;  'tis  at  a  white  heat  now ; 
The  billows  ceased,  the  flames  decreased ;  though  on  the  forge's 

brow 

The  little  flames  still  fitfully  play  through  the  sable  mound  4, 
And  fitfully  you  still  may  see  the  grim  smiths  ranking  round, 
All  clad  in  leathern  panoply,  their  broad  hands  only  bare  ; 
Some  rest  upon  their  sledges  here,  some  work  the  windlass  there. 

The  windlass  strains  the  tackle-chains,   the  black  mound    heaves 

below, 

And  red  and  deep  a  hundred  veins  burst  out  at  every  throe ; 
It  rises,  roars,  rends  all  outright — 0,  Vulcan,  what  a  glow  ! 
'Tis  blinding  white,  'tis  blasting  bright,  the  high  sun  shines  not*$o  ! 
The  high  sun  sees  not,  on  the  earth,  such  fiery  fearful  show  ; 
The  roof-ribs  swarth,  the  candent  hearth,  the  ruddy,  lurid  row 
Of  smiths,  that  stand,  an  ardent  band,  like  men  before  the  foe  ; 
As  quivering  through  his  fleece  of  flame,  the  sailing  monster  slow 
Sinks  on  the  anvil — all  about  the  faces  fiery  grow — 
"Hurrah!"    they  shout,  leap    out — leap  out:"    bang,   bang,    the 

sledges  go  ; 

Hurrah  !  the  jetted  lightnings  are  hissing  high  and  low  ; 
A  hailing  fount  of  fire  is  struck  at  every  squashing  blow  ; 
The  leathern  mail  rebounds  the  hail ;  the  rattling  cinders  strow 
The  ground  around ;   at  every  bound  the  sweltering  fountains  flow  ; 
And  thick  and  loud  the  s winking  crowd,  at  every  stroke,  pant 

"Ho!" 

Leap  out,  leap  out,  my  masters  ;  leap  out  and  lay  on  load  ! 
Let's  forge  a  goodly  anchor,  a  bower,  thick  and  broad; 
For  a  heart  of  oak  is  hanging  on  every  blow,  I  bode, 
And  I  see  the  good  ship  riding,  all  in  a  perilous  road ; 
The  low  reef  roaring  on  her  lee,  the  roll  of  ocean  poured 
From  stem  to  stern,  sea  after  sea,  the  mainmast  by  the  board  ; 
The  bulwarks  down,  the  rudder  gone,  the  boats  stove  at  the  chains, 
But  courage  still,  brave  mariners,  the  bower  still  remains, 


THE    FORGING    OF    THE    ANCHOR.  163 

And  not  an  inch  to  flinch  he  deigns  save  when  ye  pitch  sky-high, 
Then  moves  his  head,  as   though  he  said,  "  Fear  nothing — here 

ami!" 

Swing  in  your  strokes  in  order,  let  foot  and  hand  keep  time, 
Your  blows  make  music  sweeter  far  than  any  steeple's  chime  ! 
But  while  ye  swing  your  sledges,  sing  ;  and  let  the  burden  be, 
The  Anchor  is  the  Anvil  King,  and  royal  craftsmen  we  ; 
Strike  in,  strike  in,  the  sparks  begin  to  dull  their  rustling  red  ! 
Our  hammers  ring  with  sharper  din,  our  work  will  soon  be  sped  ; 
Our  anchor  soon  must  change  his  bed  of  -fiery  rich  array, 
For  a  hammock  at  the  roaring  bows,  or  an  oozy  couch  of  clay ; 
Our  anchor  soon  must  change  the  lay  of  merry  craftsmen  here, 
For  the  Yeo-heave-o,  and  the  Heave-away,  and  the  sighing  seaman's 

cheer ; 

When  weighing  slow,  at  eve  they  go,  far,  far  from  love  and  home, 
And  sobbing  sweethearts,  in  a  row,  wail  o'er  the  ocean  foam. 

In  livid  and  obdurate  gloom,  he  darkens  down  at  last. 
A  shapely  one  he  is,  and  strong  as  e'er  from  cat  was  cast. 
A  trusted  and  trustworthy  guard,  if  thou  hadst  life  like  me, 
What  pleasures  would  thy  toils  reward  beneath  the  deep  green  sea ! 
0,  deep  sea-diver,  who  might  then  behold  such  sights  as  thou  1 
The  hoary  monsters'  palaces  !  methinks  what  joy  'twere  now 
To  go  plump  plunging  down  amid  the  assembly  of  the  whales, 
And  feel  the  churn'd  sea  round  me  boil  beneath  their  scourging 
tails  ! 

Then  deep  in  tangle-woods  to  fight  the  fierce  sea-unicorn, 
And  send  him  foiled  and  bellowing  back,  for  all  his  ivory  horn  ; 
To  leave  the  subtle  sworder-fish,  of  bony  blade  forlorn, 
And  for  the  ghastly  grinning  shaik,  to  laugh  his  jaws  to  scorn; 
To  leap  down  on  the  kraken's  back,  where  'mid  Norwegian  isles 
He  lies,  a  lubber  anchorage,  for  sudden  shallowed  miles  ; 
Till  snorting,  like  an  under-sea  volcano,  off  he  rolls, 
Meanwhile  to  swing,  a-buffeting  the  far-astonished  shoals 
Of  his  back-browsing  ocean  calves  ;  or  haply  in  a  cove, 
Shell-strown,  and  consecrate  of  old  to  some  Undine's  love, 
To  find  the  long-haired  mermaidens  ;  or,  hard-by  icy  lands, 
To  wrestle  with  the  sea-serpent,  upon  cerulean  sands. 


164  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

0,  broad-armed  Fisher  of  the  deep,  whose  sports  can  equal  thine  7 
The  Dolphin  weighs  a  thousand  tons  that  tugs  thy  cable  line  : 
And  night  by  night  'tis  thy  delight,  thy  glory  day  by  day, 
Through  sable  sea  and  breaker  white,  the  giant  game  to  play ; 
But,  shamer  of  our  little  sports  !  forgive  the  name  I  gave, 
A  fisher's  joy  is  to  destroy — thine  office,  is  to  save. 

0,  lodger  in  the  sea-king's  halls,  couldst  thou  but  understand 
Whose  be  the  white  bones  by  thy  side,  or  who  that  dripping  band, 
Slow  swaying  in  the  heaving  wave,  that  round  about  thee  bend, 
With  sounds  like  breakers  in  a  dream,  blessing  their  ancient  friend — 
Oh,  couldst  thou  know  what  heroes  glide  with  larger  steps  round 

thee, 
Thine  iron  side  wrould  swell  with  pride,  thou'dst  leap  within  the  sea ! 

Give  honor  to  their  memories  who  left  the  pleasant  strand, 
To  shed  their  blood  so  freely  for  the  love  of  fatherland — 
Who  left  their  chance  of  quiet  age  and  grassy  church-yard  grave 
So  freely,  for  a  restless  bed  amid  the  tossing  wave —    . 
Oh,  though  our  anchor  may  not  be  all  I  have  fondly  sung, 
Honor  him  for  their  memory,  whose  bones  he  goes  among  ! 


THE  WEECK  OF  THE  HESPEEUS. 

H.  W.  LONGFELLOW. 

IT  was  the  schooner  Hesperus, 

That  sailed  the  wintry  sea  ; 
And  the  skipper  had  taken  his  little  daughter, 

To  bear  him  company. 

Blue  were  her  eyes,  as  the  lairy-flax, 

Her  cheeks  like  the  dawn  of  day, 
And  her  bosom  white  as  the  hawthorn  buds, 

That  ope  in  the  month  of  May. 

The  skipper  he  stood  beside  the  helm, 
His  pipe  was  in  his  mouth, 


THE    WRECK    OF    THE    HESPERUS.  165 

And  watched  ho\v  the  veering  flaw  did  blow 
The  smoke  now  west,  now  south. 

Then  up  and  spake  an  old  sailor, 

Had  sailed  tl\e  Spanish  Main, 
"  I  pray  thee,  put  into  yonder  port, 

For  I  fear  a  hurricane.- 

"  Last  night  the  moon  had  a  golden  ring, 

And  to-night  no  moon  we  see  !  '' 
The  skipper  he  blew  a  whiff  from  his  pipe, 

And  a  scornful  laugh  laughed  he. 

Colder  and  louder  blew  the  wind, 

A  gale  from  the  northeast ; 
The  snow  fell  hissing  in  the  brine, 

And  the  billows  frothed  like  yeast. 

Down  came  the  storm,  and  smote  amain 

The  vessel  in  its  strength  ; 
She  shuddered  and  paused,  like  a  frightened  steed, 

Then  leaped  her  cable's  length. 

"  Come  hither  !  come  hither !  my  little  daughter, 

And  do  not  tremble  so  ; 
For  I  can  weather  the  roughest  gale 

That  ever  wind  did  blow." 

He  wrapped  her  warm  in  his  seaman's  coat, 

Against  the  stinging  blast ; 
He  cut  a  rope  from  a  broken  spar, 

And  bound  her  to  the  mast. 

."0,  father!  1  hear  the  church-bells  ring, 

Oh,  say,  what  may  it  be  V 
"  'Tis  a  fog-bell  on  a  rock-bound  coast !  " 

And  he  steered  for  the  open  sea. 

"  0,  father  !  I  hear  the  sound  of  guns, 
Oh,  say,  what  may  it  be  1  " 


166  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

"  Some  ship  in  distress,  that  cannot  live 
In  such  an  angry  sea  !  " 

"  0,  father !  I  see  a  gleaming  light, 

Oh,  say,  what  may  it  be  1 " 
But  the  father  answered  never  a  word  ! 

A  frozen  corpse  was  h«. 

Lashed  to  the  helm,  all  stiff  and  stark, 
With  his  face  turned  to  the  skies, 

The  lantern  gleamed  through  the  glancing  snow 
On  his  fixed  and  glassy  eyes. 

Then  the  maiden  clasped  her  hands,  and  prayed 

That  saved  she  might  be  ; 
And  she  thought  of  Christ,  who  stilled  the  waves 

On  the  Lake  of  Galilee. 

And  fast  through  the  midnight  dark  and  drear, 
Through  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow, 

Like  a  sheeted  ghost,  the  vessel  swept 
Towards  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe. 

And  ever  the  fitful  gusts  between 

A  sound  came  from  the  land ; 
It  was  the  sound  of  the  trampling  surf 

On  the  rocks  and  the  hard  sea-sand. 

The  breakers  were  right  beneath  her  bows, 

She  drifted  a  dreary  wreck, 
And  a  whooping  billow  swept  the  crew, 
.  Like  icicles,  from  her  deck. 

She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  waves 

Looked  soft  as  carded  wool, 
But  the  cruel  rocks,  they  gored  her  side, 

Like  the  horns  of  an  angry  bull. 

Her  rattling  shrouds,  all  sheathed  in  ice, 
With  the  masts,  went  by  the  board  j 


THE    MAN    OF    ROSS.  167 

Like  a  vessel  of  glass,  she  stove  and  sank, 
Ho  !  ho  !  the  breakers  roared. 

At  daybreak,  on  the  bleak  sea-beach, 

A  fisherman  stood  aghast, 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair 

Lashed  close  to  a  drifting  mast. 

The  salt  sea  was  frozen  on  her  breast, 

The  salt  tears  in  her  eyes  ; 
And"  he  saw  her  hair,  like  the  brown  sea-weed, 

On  the  billows  fall  and  rise. 

Such  was  the  wreck  of  the  Hesperus, 

In  the  midnight  and  the  snow  ! 
Christ,  save  us  all  from  a  death  like  this, 

On  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe  ! 


THE  MAN  OF  EOSS. 

ALEXANDER   POPE. 

ALL  our  praises  why  should  lords  engross  1 

Rise,  honest  Muse  !  arid  sing  the  Man  of  Ross  : 
Pleased  Vaga  echoes  through  her  winding  bounds, 
And  rapid  Severn  hoarse  applause  resounds. 
Who  hung  with  woods  yon  mountain's  sultry  brow  1 
From  the  dry  rock  who  bade  the  waters  flow  7 
Not  to  the  skies  in  useless  columns  tost, 
Or  in  proud  falls  magnificently  lost ; 
But  clear  and  artless,  pouring  through  the  plain 
Health  to  the  sick,  and  solace  to  the  swain. 
Whose  causeway  parts  the  vale  with  shady  rows  1 
Whose  seats  the  weary  traveller  repose  I 
Who  taught  that  heaven-directed  spire  to  rise  7 
"  The  Man  of  Ross,"  each  lisping  babe  replies. 
Behold  the  market-place  with  poor  o'erspread ! 
The  Man  of  Ross  divides  the  weekly  brea*: 
He  feeds  yon  almshouse,  neat,  but  void  of  state, 
Where  age  and  want  sit  smiling  at  the  gate  : 


168  RECITATIONS    A^D    DIALOGUES. 


Him  portioned  maids,  apprenticed  orphans  blessed, 
The  young  who  labor,  and  the  old  who  rest. 
Is  any  sick  7  the  Man  of  Ross  relieves, 
Prescribes,  attends,  the  medicine  makes  and  gives. 
Is  there  a  variance  ?  enter  but  his  door, 
Baulked  are  the  courts,  and  contest  is  no  more. 
Despairing  quacks  with  curses  fled  the  place, 
And  vile  attorneys,  now  a  useless  race. 

Thrice  happy  man  I  enabled  to  pursue 
What  all  so  wish,  but  want  the  power  to  do  ! 
0,  say  !  what  sums  that  generous  hand  supply  ? 
What  mines  to  swell  that  boundless  charity  ? 

Of  debts  and  taxes,  wife  and  children  eleary 
This  man  possessed  five  hundred  pounds  a  year. 
Blush,  Grandeur,  blush  !  proud  Courts,  withdraw  your  blaze  ! 
Ye  little  stars,  hide  your  diminished  rays  I 

And  what  I  no  monument,  inscription,  stone  ? 
His  race,  his  form,  his  name  almost  unknown  ? 

Who  builds  a  church  to  God,  and  not  to  fame, 
Will  never  mark  the  marble  with  his  name  : 
Go,  search  it  there,  where  to  be  born  and  die, 
Of  rich  and  poor  makes  all  the  history  * 
Enough,  that  virtue  filled  the  space  between  ; 
Proved  by  the  ends  of  being  to  have  been. 


NO  WOBK  THE  HAEDEST  WORK. 

C,  F. 

Ho  !  ye  who  at  the  anvil  toil, 

And  strike  the  sounding  blow, 
Where  from  the  burning  iron's  breast 

The  sparks  fly  to  and  fro, 
While  answering  to  the  hammer's  ring, 

And  fire's  intenser  glow — 
Oh  !  while  ye  feel  'tis  hard  to  toil 

An<f  sweat  the  long  day  through, 
Remember  it  is  harder  still 

To  have  no  work  to  do. 


NO    WORK    THE    HARDEST    WORK.  169 

Ho  !  ye  who  till  the  stubborn  soil, 

Whose  hard  hands  guide  the  plough, 
Who  bend  beneath  the  summer  sun, 

With  burning  cheek  and  brow — 
Ye  deem  the  curse  still  clings  to  earth 

From  olden  time  till  now — 
But  while  ye  feel  'tis  hard  to  toil 

And  labor  all  day  through, 
Remember  it  is  harder  still 

To  have  no  work  to  do. 

Ho  !  ye  who  plough  the  sea's  blue  field, 

Who  ride  the  restless  wave, 
Beneath  whose- gallant  vessel's  keel 

There  lies  a  yawning,  grave, 
Around  whose  bark  the  wintry  winds 

Like  fiends  of  fury  rave — 
Oh  !  while  ye  feel  His  hard  to  toil 

And  labor  long  hours  through, 
Remember  it  is  harder  still 

To  have  no  work  to  do. 

Ho  !  ye  upon  whose  fevered  cheeks 

The  hectic  glow  is  bright, 
Whose  mental  toil  wears  out  the  day 

And  half  the  weary  night ; 
Who  labor  for  the  souls  of  men, 

Champions  of  truth  and  right ; 
Although  ye  feel  your  toil  is  hard, 

Even  with  this  glorious  view,  9 

Remember  it  is  harder  still 

To  have  no  work  to  do. 

Ho  !  all  who  labor,  all  who  strive, 

Ye  wield  a  lofty  power  ; 
Do  with  your  might,  do  with  your  strength, 

Fill  every  golden  hour  ! 
The  glorious  privilege  to  do, 

Is  man's  most  noble  dower. 


170  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

Oh  !  to  your  birthright  and  yourselves, 
To  your  own  souls,  be  true  ! 

A  weary,  wretched  life  is  theirs, 
Who  have  no  work  to  do. 


WHAT  IS  TIME? 

MABSDEN. 

I  ASKED  an  aged  man,  with  hoary  hairs, 

Wrinkled  and  curved  with  worldly  cares ; 

"Time  is  the  warp  of  life,"  said  he,  "  oh,  tell 

The  young,  the  fair,  the  gay,  to  weave  it  well !  " 

I  asked  the  ancient,  venerable  dead, 

Sages  who  wrote,  and  warriors  who  bled ; 

From  the  cold  grave  a  hollow  murmur  flowed, 

"  Time  sowed  the  seed  we  reap  in  this  abode !  " 

I  asked  a  dying  sinner,  ere  the  tide 

Of  life  had  left  his  veins  ;    "  Time  !  "  he  replied  ; 

"  I've  lost  it !    ah,  the  treasure  !  " — and  he  died. 

I  asked  the  golden  sun  and  silver  spheres, 

Those  bright  chronometers  of  days  and  years ; 

They  answered,  "  Time  is  but  a  meteor  glare,'' 

And  bade  me  for  Eternity  prepare. 

I  asked  the  Seasons,  in  their  annual  round, 

Which  beautify  or  desolate  the  ground  ; 

And  they  replied  (no  oracle  more  wise), 

"  'Tis  Folly's  blank,  and  Wisdom's  highest  prize ! 

I  asked  a  spirit  lost, — but  oh,  the  shriek 

That  pierced  my  soul !   I  shudder  while  I  speak, 

It  cried,  "  A  particle  !  a  speck !  a  mite 

Of  endless  years,  duration  infinite  !  " 

Of  things  inanimate  my  dial  I 

Consulted,  and  it  made  me  this  reply. — 

"  Time  is  the  season  fair  of  living  well, 

The  path  of  glory  or  the  path  of  hell." 

I  asked  my  Bible,  and  methinks  it  said, 

"  Time  is  the  present  hour,  the  past  has  fled  ; 


BKUTUS'S    ORATION.  171 

Live!    live  to-day!  to-morrow  never  yet 

On  any  human  being  rose  or  set." 

I  asked  old  Father  Time  himself  at  last ; 

But  in  a  moment  he  flew  swiftly  past, 

His  chariot  was  a  cloud,  the  viewless  wind 

His  noiseless  steeds,  which  left  no  trace  behind. 

1  asked  the  might)'  angel,  who  shall  stand 

One  foot  on  sea,  and  one  on  solid  land ; 

"  Mortal !  "  he  cried,  the  mystery  now  is  o'er  ; 

Time  was,  Time  is,  but  time  shall  be  no  more  ! " 


LUCIUS  JUNIUS  BRUTUS' S  OEATION  OVER 
THE  BODY  OF  LUCRETIA. 

J.  H.  PAYNE. 

WOULD  you  know  why  I  summoned  you  together  ? 

Ask  ye  what  brings  me  here  1     Behold  this  dagger, 

Clotted  with  gore  !     Behold  that  frozen  corse  ! 

See  where  the  lost  Lucretia  sleeps  in  death  ! 

She  was  the  mark  and  model  of  the  time, 

The  mould  in  which  each  female  face  was  formed, 

The  very  shrine  and  sacristy  of  virtue  ! 

Fairer  than  ever  was  a  form  created 

By  youthful  fancy  when  the  blood  strays  wild, 

And  never  resting  thought  is  all  on  fire  ! 

The  worthiest  of  the  worthy  !     Not  the  nynlph 

Who  met  old  Numa  in  his  hallowed  walks, 

And  whispered  in  his  ear  her  strains  divine, 

Can  I  conceive  beyond  her; — the  young  choir 

Of  vestal  virgins  bent  to  her.     'Tis  wonderful 

Amid  the  darnel,  hemlock,  and  base  weeds, 

Which  now  spring  rife  from  the  luxurious  compost 

Spread  o'er  the  realm,  how  this  sweet  lily  rose, — 

How  from  the  shade  of  those  ill-neighboring  plants 

Her  father  sheltered  her,  that  not  a  leaf 

Was  blighted,  but,  arrayed  in  purest  grace, 

She  bloomed  unsullied  beauty.     Such  perfections 


172  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

Might  have  called  back  the  torpid  breast  of  age 

To  long-forgotten  rapture  ;  such  a  mind 

Might  hare  abashed  the  boldest  libertine 

And  turned  desire  to  reverential  love, 

And  holiest  affection!     Oh,  my  countrymen  ! 

You  all  can  witness  when  that  she  went,  forth 

It  was  a  holiday  in  Rome  ;  old  age 

Forgot  its  crutch,  labor  its  task, — all  ran, 

And  mothers,  turning  to  their  daughters,  cried, 

"  There,  there's  Lucretia  !  "     Now,  look  ye,  where  she  lies ! 

That  beauteous  flower,  that  innocent  sweet  rose, 

Torn  up  by  ruthless  violence — gone  !  gone !  gone  ! 

Say,  would  you  seek  instruction  7  would  ye  ask 
What  ye  should  do  1     Ask  ye  yon  conscious  walls, 
Which  saw  his  poisoned  brother, — 
Ask  yon  deserted  street,  where  Tullia  drove 
O'er  her  dead  father's  corse,  'twill  cry,  Revenge  ! 
Ask  yonder  senate-house,  whose  stones  are  purple 
With  human  blood,  and  it  will  cry,  Revenge ! 
Go  to  the  tomb  where  lies  his  murdered  wife, 
And  tho  poor  queen,  who  loved  him  as  her  son, 
Their  unappeased  ghosts  will  shriek,  Revenge  ! 
The  temples  of  the  gods,  the  all- vie  wing  heavens, 
The  gods  themselves,  shall  justify  the  cry, 
And  swell  the  general  sound,  Revenge  !  Revenge  ! 

And  we  wi.l  be  revenged,  my  countrymen  ! 
Brutus  shall  lead  you  on  ;  Brutus,  a  name 
Which  will,  when  you're  revenged,  be  dearer  to  him 
Than  all  the  noblest  titles  earth  can  boast. 

Brutus  your  king  ! — No,  fellow-citizens  ! 
If  mad  ambition  in  this  guilty  frame 
Had  strung  one  kingly  fibre,  yea,  but  one — 
By  all  the  gods,  this  dagger  which  I  hold 
Should  rip  it  out,  though  it  entwined  my  heart. 

Now  take  the  body  up.     Bear  it  before  us 
To  Tarquin's  palace ;  there  we'll  light  our  torches, 
And  in  the  blazing  conflagration,  rear 
A  pile  for  these  chaste  relics,  that  shall  send 
Her  soul  amongst  the  stars.     On  !  Brutus  leads  you  ! 


WHAT   IS   THAT.    MOTHER  ?  173 


WHAT  IS  THAT,  MOTHEE? 

DOANE. 

WHAT  is  that,  mother  1 — 

The  Lark,  my  child, — 
The  morn  has  just  looked  out,  and  smiled, 
When  he  starts  from  his  humble,  grassy  nest, 
And  is  up  and  away  with  the  dew  on  his  breast 
And  a  hymn  in  his  heart,  to  yon  pure  bright  sphere, 
To  warble  it  out  in  his  Maker's  ear. 
Ever,  my  child,  be  thy  morn's  first  lays 
Tuned,  like  the  lark's,  to  thy  Maker's  praise. 

What  is  that,  mother  ? — 

The  Dove,  my  son, — 

And  that  low,  sweet  voice,  like  the  widow's  moan, 
Is  flowing  out  from  her  gentle  breast, 
Constant  and  pure,  by  that  lonely  nest, 
As  the  wave  is  poured  from  some  crystal  urn, 
For  her  distant  dear  one's  quick  return. 
Ever,  my  son,  be  thou  like  the  dove — 
In  friendship  as  faithful,  as  constant  in  love. 

What  is  that,  mother  1 — 

The  Eagle,  boy, 

Proudly  careering  his  course  of  joy, 
Firm,  in  his  own  mountain  vigor  relying, 
Breasting  the  dark  storm,  the  red  bolt  defying ; 
His  wing  on  the  wind,  and  his  eye  on  the  sun, 
He  swerves  not  a  hair,  but  bears  onward,  right  on. 
Boy,  may  the  eagle's  flight  ever  be  thine, 
Onward  and  upward,  true  to  the  1  ne. 

What  is  that,  mother  1 — 

The  Swan,  my  love, — 
He  is  floating  down  from  his  native  grove, 
No  loved  one  now,  no  nestling  nigh  ; 
He  is  floating  down  by  himself  to  die. 


171  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

Death  darkens  his  eye,  and  unplumes  his  wings, 
Yet  the  sweetest  song  is  the  last  he  sings. 
Live  so,  my  love,  that  when  death  shall  come, 
Swan-like  and  sweet  it  may  waft  thee  home. 


A  COLLOQUY  WITH  MYSELF. 

BERNARD  BARTON. 

As  I  walked  by  myself,  I  talked  to  myself, 

And  myself  replied  to  me  ; 
And  the  questions  myself  then  put  to  myself, 

With  their  answers,  I  give  to  thee. 
Put  them  home  to  thyself,  and  if  unto  thyself, 

Their  responses  the  same  should  be, 
Oh  !  look  well  to  thyself,  and  beware  of  thyself, 

Or  so  much  the  worse  for  thee. 

What  are  Riches  1     Hoarded  treasures 

May,  indeed,  thy  coffers  fill ; 
Yet,  like  earth's  most  fleeting  pleasures, 

Leave  thee  poor  and  heartless  still. 

What  are  Pleasures  7     When  afforded 

But  by  gauds  which  pass  away, 
Read  their  fate  in  lines  recorded 

On  the  sea-sands  yesterday. 

What  is  Fashion  1     Ask  of  Folly, 

She  her  worth  can  best  express. 
What  is  moping  Melancholy  7 

Go  and  learn  of  Idleness. 

What  is  Truth  7     Too  stern  a  preacher 

For  the  prosperous  and  the  gay  ! 
But  a  safe  and  wholesome  teacher 

In  Adversity's  dark  day. 

What  is  Friendship  7     If  well  founded, 
Like  some  beacon's  heavenward  glow  ; 


A   COLLOQUY    WITH    MYSELF.  175 

If  on  false  pretensions  grounded, 
Like  the  treacherous  sand  below. 

What  is  Love  7     If  earthly  only, 

Like  a  meteor  of  the  night ; 
Shining  but  to  leave  more  lonely 

Hearts  that  hailed  its  transient  light : 

But  when  calm,  refined,  and  tender, 

Purified  from  passion's  stain, 
Like  the  moon,  in  gentle  splendor, 

Ruling  o'er  the  peaceful  main. 

What  are  Hopes,  but  gleams  of  brightness, 

Glancing  darkest  clouds  between  1 
Or  foam-crested  waves,  whose  whiteness 

Gladdens  ocean's  darksome  green. 

What  are  Fears  1     Grim  phantoms,  throwing 

Shadows  o'er  the  pilgrim's  way, 
Every  moment  darker  growing, 

If  we  yield  unto  their  sway. 

What  is  Mirth  ?     A  flash  of  lightning, 

Followed  but  by  deeper  gloom. 
Patience  1     More  than  sunshine  brightening 

Sorrow's  path,  and  labor's  doom. 

What  is  Time  1     A  river  flowing 

To  Eternity's  vast  sea, 
Forward,  whither  all  are  rowing, 

On  its  bosom  bearing  thee. 

What  is  Life  1     A  bubble  floating 

On  that  silent,  rapid  stream  ; 
Few,  too  few,  its  progress  noting, 

Till  it  'bursts,  and  ends  the  dream. 

What  is  Death,  asunder  rending 
Every  tie  we  love  so  well  1 


176  RECITATIONS   AND    DIALOGUES. 

But  the  gate  to  life  unending, 
Joy,  in  heaven  !  or  woe,  in  hell ! 

Can  these  truths,  by  repetition, 
Lose  their  magnitude  or  weight  1 

Estimate  thine  own  condition, 
Ere  thou  pass  that  fearful  gate. 

Hast  thou  heard  them  oft  repeated, 
Much  may  still  be  left  to  do  : 

Be  not  by  profession  cheated  ; 

Live — as  if  thou  knewest  them  true. 

As  I  walked  by  myself,  I  talked  to  myself, 

And  myself  replied  to  me  ; 
And  the  questions  myself  then  put  to  myself, 

With  their  answers,  I've  given  to  thee. 
Put  them  home  to  thyself,  and  if  unto  thyself 

Their  responses  the  same  should  be, 
Oh  !  look  well  to  thyself,  and  beware  of  thyself, 

Or  so  much  the  worse  for  thee. 


SAINT  PHILIP  NEKI  AND  THE  YOUTH. 

DB.  BYKOM. 

SAINT  PHILIP  NERI,  as  old  readings  say, 

Met  a  young  stranger  in  Rome's  streets  one  day  ; 

And  being  ever  courteously  inclined 

To  give  young  folks  a  sober  turn  of  mind, 

He  fell  into* discourse  with  him;  and  thus 

The  dialogue  they  held  comes  down  to  us. 

SAINT.  Tell  me  what  brings  you,  gentle  youth,  to  Rome  7 
YOUTH.  To  make  myself  a  scholar,  sir,  I  come. 
SAINT.  And,  when  you  are  one,  what  do  you  intend  1 
YOUTH.  To  be  a  priest,  I  hope,  sir,  in  the  end. 
SAINT.  Suppose  it  so — what  have  you  next  in  view  7 
YOUTH.  That  I  may  get  to  be  a  canon,  too. 


THE    CHAMELEON.  177 

SAINT.  Well ;  and  how  then  1 

YOUTH.  Why,  then,  for  aught  I  know, 

I  may  bo  made  a  bishop. 
SAINT.  Be  it  so — 

What  then  1 
YOUTH.  Why,  cardinal's  a  high  degree — 

And  yet  my  lot  it  possibly  may  be. 
SAINT.  Suppose  it  was,  what  then  1 
YOUTH.  Why,  who  can  say 

But  I've  a  chance  of  being  pope  one  day  ? 
SAINT.  Well,  having  worn  the  mitre  and  red  hat, 

And  triple  crown,  what  follows  after  that  1 
YOUTH.  Nay,  there  is  nothing  further,  to  be  sure, 

Upon  this  earth  that  wishing  can  procure: 

When  I've  enjoyed  a  dignity  so  high, 

As  long  as  God  shall  please,  then  I  must  die. 
SAINT.  What !  must  you  die  1  fond  youth  !  and  at  the  best 

But  wish,  and  hope,  and  may  be  all  the  rest ! 

Take  my  advice — whatever  may  betide, 

For  that  which  must  be,  first  of  all  provide  ; 

Then  think  of  that  which  may  be,  and  indeed, 

When  well  prepared,  who  knows  what  may  succeed  7 

But  you  may  be,  as  you  are  pleased  to  hope, 
•    Priest,  canon,  bishop,  cardinal  and  pope. 


THE  CHAMELEON. 

MEBHICK. 

OFT  has  it  been  my  lot  to  mark 
A  proud,  conceited,  talking  spark, 
With  eyes  that  hardly  served  at  most 
To  guard  their  master  'gainst  a  post ; 
Yet  round  the  world  the  blade  has  been, 
To  see  whatever  could  be  seen. 
Returning  from  his  finished  tour, 
Grown  ten  times  porter  than  before ; 
Whatever  word  you  chance  to  drop, 
The  travelled  fool  your  mouth  will  stop : 


178  RECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

"  Sir,  if  my  judgment  you'll  allow — 
I've  seen — and  sure  I  ought  to  know  " — 
So  begs  you'd  pay  a  due  submission, 
And  acquiesce  in  his  decision. 

Two  travellers  of  such  a  cast, 
As  o'er  Arabia's  wilds  they  passed, 
And  on  their  way,  in  friendly  chat, 
Now  talked  of  this,  and  then  of  that ; 
Discoursed  awhile,  'mongst  other  matter, 
Of  the  Chameleon's  form  and  nature. 
"  A  stranger  animal,"  cries  one, 
"  Sure  never  lived  beneath  the  sun  : 
A  lizard's  body  lean  and  long, 
A  fish's  head,  a  serpent's  tongue, 
Its  tooth  with  triple  claw  disjoined  ; 
And  what  a  length  of  tail  behind  ! 
How  slow  its  pace  !  and  then  its  hue — 
Who  ever  saw  so  fine  a  blue  ?  " 

"  Hold  there !  "  the  other  quick  replies, 
"  'Tis  green — I  saw  it  wit  i  these  eyes, 
As  late  with  open  mouth  it  lay, 
And  warmed  it  in  the  sunny  ray  ; 
Stretched  at  its  ease  the  beast  I  viewed, 
And  saw  it  eat  the  air  for  food." 

"I've  seen  it,  sir,  as  well  as  you, 
And  must  again  affirm  it  blue  ; 
At  leisure  I  the  beast  surveyed, 
Extended  in  the  cooling  shade." 

"  'Tis  green  !  'tis  green,  sir,  I  assure  ye." 
"  Green  !  "  cries  the  other,  in  a  fury  : 
"  Why,  sir,  d'ye  think  I've  lost  my  eyes  1  " 

"  'Twere  no  great  loss,"  the  friend  replies  ; 
"  For  if  they  always  serve  you  thus, 
You'll  find  them  but  of  little  use." 

So  high  at  last  the  contest  rose, 
From  words  they  almost  came  to  blows  : 
When  luckily  came  by  a  third  ; 
To  him  the  question  they  referred  ; 
And  begged  he'd  tell  them,  if  he  knew, 


HENRY  THE  FOURTH'S  SOLILOQUY  ON  SLEEP.    179 

Whether  the  thing  was  green  or  blue. 

"  Sirs,"  cries  the  umpire,  "  cease  your  pother 
The  creature's  neither  one  nor  t'other. 
I  caught  the  animal  last  night, 
And  viewed  it  o'er -by  candlelight : 
I  marked  it  well — 'twas  black  as  jet — 
You  stare — but,  sirs.  I've  got  it  yet, 
And  can  produce  it." — "  Pray,  sir,  do  ; 
I'll  lay  my  life  the  thing  is  blue." 
"  And  I'll  be  sworn,  that,  when  you've  seen 
The  reptile,  you'll  pronounce  him  green." 

"  Well,  then,  at  once  to  ease  the  doubt,'1 
Replies  the  man,  "I'll  turn  him  out : 
And  when  before  your  eyes  I've  set  him, 
If  you  don't  find  him  black,  I'll  eat  him," 

He  said  ;  then  full  before  their  sight 
Produced  the  beast,  and  lo ! — 'twas  white. 
Both  stared,  the  man  looked  wondrous  wise — 
*'  My  children,"  the  Chameleon  cries 
(Then  first  the  creature  found  a  tongue), 
"  You  all  are  right,  and  all  are  wrong : 
When  next  you  talk  of  what  you  view, 
Think  others  see  as  well  as  you  : 
Nor  wonder,  if  you  find  that  none 
Prefers  your  eyesight  to  his  own." 


HENEY  THE  FOUETH'S  SOLILOQUY  ON  SLEEP. 

8HAK8PEABE. 

How  many  thousand  of  my  poorest  subjects 
Are  at  this  hour  asleep  !  0  sleep,  0  gentle  sleep, 
Nature's  soft  nurse,  how  have  I  frighted  thee, 
That  thou  no  more  wilt  weigh  rny  eyelids  down, 
And  steep  my  senses  in  forgetful  ness  1 
Why  rather,  sleep,  liest  Ihou  in  smoky  cribs, 
«.  Upon  uneasy  pallets  stretching  thee, 

And  hushed  with  buzzing  night-flies  to  thy  slumber, 


180  KECITATIONS    AND    DIALOGUES. 

Than  in  the  perfumed  chambers  of  the  great, 

Under  the  canopies  of  costly  state, 

And  lulled  with  sounds  of  sweetest  melody  7 

0 !  thcu  dull  god,  why  liest  thou  with  the  vile. 

In  loathsome  beds  ;  and  leav'st  the  kingly  couch, 

A  watch-case,  or  a  common  :larurn  bell  1 

Wilt  thou  upon  the  high  and  giddy  mast 

Seal  up  the  ship-boy's  eyes,  and  rock  his  brains 

In  cradle  of  the  rude  imperious  surge, 

And  in  the  visitation  of  the  winds, 

Who  take  the  ruffian  billows  by  the  top, 

Curling  their  monstrous  heads,  and  hanging  them 

With  deafening  clamors  in  the  slippery  clouds, 

That  with  the  hurly,  death  itself  awakes  7 

Canst  thou,  0  partial  sleep  !  give  thy  repose 

To  the  wet  sea-boy  in  an  hour  so  rude  ; 

And,  in  the  calmest  and  most  stillest  night, 

With  all  appliances  and  means  to  boot, 

Deny  it  to  a  king  1     Then,  happy  low-lie-down  ! 

Uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown. 


ON  PEOCEASTINATION. 

YOUNG. 

BE  wise  to-day  ;   'tis  madness  to  defer ; 
Next  day  the  fatal  precedent  will  plead  ; 
Thus  on,  till  wisdom  is  pushed  out  of  life. 
Procrastination  is  the  thief  of  time ; 
Year  after  year  it  steals,  till  all  are  fled, 
And  to  the  mercies  of  a  moment  leaves 
The  vast  concerns  of  an  eternal  scene. 

Of  man's  miraculous  mistakes  this  bears 
The  palm,  "That  all  men  are  about  to  live," 
For  ever  on  the  brink  of  being  born. 
All  pay  themselves  the  compliment  to  think 
They  one  day  shall  not  drivel ;  and  their  pride 
On  this  reversion  takes  up  ready  praise : 
At  least  their  own  ;  their  future  selves  applaud  • 


ON    PROCRASTINATION.  181 

0 

How  excellent  that  life  they  ne'er  will  lead ! 

Time  lodged  in  their  own  hands  is  Folly's  vails; 

That  lodged  in  Fate's  to  wisdom  they  consign ; 

The  thing  they  can't  but  purpose,  they  postpone, 

'Tis  not  in  folly  not  to  scorn  a  fool, 

And  scarce  in  human  wisdom  to  do  more. 

All  promise  is  poor  dilatory  man, 

And  that  through  every  stage.     When  young,  indeed, 

In  full  content  we  sometimes  nobly  rest, 

Unanxious  for  ourselves,  and  only  wish, 

As  duteous  sons,  our  fathers  were  more  wise. 

At  thirty  man  suspects  himself  a  fool ; 

Knows  it  at  forty,  and  reforms  his  plan ; 

At  fifty  chides  his  infamous  delay, 

Pushes  his  prudent  purpose  to  resolve  ; 

In  all  the  magnanimity  of  thought 

Resolves,  and  re-resolves  ;  then  dies  the  same. 

And  why  ?  Because  he  thinks  himself  immortal. 
All  men  think  all  men  mortal  but  themselves ; 
Themselves,  when  some  alarming  shock  of  fate 
Strikes  through  their  wounded  hearts  the  sudden  dread ; 
But  their  hearts  wounded,  like  the  wounded  air, 
Soon  close ;  where  passed  the  shaft  no  trace  is  found, 
As  from  the  wing  no  scar  the  sky  retains, 
The  parted  ware  no  furrow  from  the  keel, 
So  dies  in  human  hearts  the  thought  of  death. 
Even  with  the  tender  tears  which  nature  sheds 
O'er  those  we  love,  we  drop  it  in  their  grave. 


APPENDIX. 


THE  design  of  the  author  in  preparing  this  small  volume, 
was,  that  he  might  present  in  a  condensed  form  a  work  that 
would  contain  a  suitable  variety  and  a  sufficient  number  of 
selections  for  elocutionary  practice.  Since  its  publication, 
many  teachers  have  solicited  the  author  to  present  a  more 
extensive  analysis  of  the  principles  of  reading ;  that  the  work 
might  be  made  more  practical  as  a  text  book  on  reading  to 
the  class  of  pupils  usually  found  in  the  upper  classes  in  our 
public  schools  and  seminaries. 

We  would  not  here  present  to  the  students  a  long  series  of 
rules  which,  at  best,  are  of  but  little  worth.  There  are  many 
introductory  principles  that  find  their  proper  place  in  our 
elementary  readers ;  and  we  would  not  increase  the  size 
of  our  volume  by  repeating  them. 

Elaborate  treatises  on  the  subject  of  elocution  are  of  val- 
ue to  those  desirous  of  obtaining  a  thorough  knowledge  of 
the  art.  An  intermediate  course,  however,  is  demanded  by 
the  pupils  of  our  schools.  We  should  give  them  less  of  the 
theory,  more  of  the  practice. 

The  cultivation  of  the  pure  tone  should  receive  special  at- 
tention. A  clear  and  distinct  enunciation  is  the  first  essen- 
tial requisite  of  a  good  reader.  This  can  be  attained.  It  may 
require  time,  but  it  will  richly  compensate  the  student  for  all 
his  toil.  Suggestions  are  given  for  the  cultivation  of  clear 
and  full  tones  in  our  brief  analysis  on  the  first  few  pages. 
We  would  suggest  as  an  auxiliary  exercise  that  the  student 
read  a  selection  backward — the  teacher  placing  himself  on 

182 


APPENDIX.  183 

the  opposite  side  of  the  room.  Should  the  student  fail  to 
enunciate  a  single  word  distinctly,  his  attention  should  be 
called  to  it.  This  exercise  might  be  practised  in  the  open 
air,  and  it  will  be  productive  of  good  results.  Care  should 
be  taken,  however,  that  no  vocal  exercise  be  continued  for  so 
long  a  time  that  the  voice  becomes  wearied. 

We  give  below  a  few  combinations,  which  should  be  first 
pronounced  by  the  teacher  and  then  by  the  student  or  class. 
This  exercise  will  be  found  of  value  in  securing  distinct  ar- 
ticulation. A  brief  elementary  exercise  in  gymnastics  will 
have  a  salutary  effect  upon  the  class  if  given  directly  before 
the  vocal  drill. 

EXERCISE     IN     ENUNCIATION. 

bd — orb'd,  prob'd,  rob'd,  sob'd 
Id — bold,  hail'd,  toll'd,  mail'd. 
Im — helm,  whelm,  film,  elm. 
'     &— falls,  tells,  toils,  rolls. 
nk — bank,  drink,  link,  rink. 
rvd — curv'd,  swerv'd,  starv'd,  serv'd. 
rnd — burn'd,  turn'd.  spurn'd,  xvarm'd. 
thd — breath'd,  wreath'd,  sheath'd,  bequeath'd. 
1st — call'st,  till'st,  rolPst,  heal'st. 
dst — mind'st,  call'dst,  fill'dst,  roll'dst. 
tigs — rings,  wrongs,  hangs,  songs. 
ngd — clang'd,  wrong'd,  hang'd.  bang'd. 
rdst — heard'st,  reward'st,  guard'st,  discard'st. 
Ir — brave,  bread,  brink,  bright. 
shr — shrine,  shroud,  shriek,  shrub, 
/—flame,  fly,  flee,  flit. 

EXAMPLES    IN    PITCH. 

MIDDLE    PITCH — PURE    TONE. 

1.  "  Probably  no  man  since  the  days  of  Washington  was  ever  so 
deeply  enshrined  in  the  hearts  of  the  American  people  as  Abraham 
Lincoln  Nor  was  it  a  mistaken  confidence  and  love.  He  deserved 
it  all.  He  deserved  it  in  his  character,  by  the  whole  tenor,  tone, 


184  APPENDIX. 

and  spirit  of  his  life.     He  was  simple,  sincere,  plain,  honest,  truth- 
ful, just,  benevolent  and  kind." 

SAME    PITCH    AND    TONE    AS    PRECEDING    EXAMPLE. 

2.    "  Up  from  the  meadows  rich  with  corn, 
Clear  in  the  cool  September  morn, 
The  clustered  spires  of  Frederick  stand. 
Green-wall' d  by  the  hills  of  Maryland." 

VERY    LOW    PITCH — PURE    EXPULSIVE    TONE. 

1.  "  Earth  to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust.  Many  a  young 
hand  dropped  in  its  little  wreath,  many  a  stifled  sob  was  heard. 
Some — and  they  were  not  a  few — knelt  down.  All  were  sincere 
and'truthful  in  their  sorrow." 

SAME    PITCH — OROTUND    EXPULSIVE    TONE. 

2.  "  Tis  midnight's  holy  hour, — and  silence  now 
Is  brooding  like  a  gentle  spirit  o'er 
The  still  and  pulseless  world.    Hark  !  on  the  winds 
The  bell's  deep  tones  are  swelling, — 'tis  the  knell 
Of  the  departed  year." 

VERY    HIGH    PITCH — OROTUND    EFFUSIVE    TONE. 

1.  "  Ah !  there's  a  deathless  name  ' 

A  spirit  that  the  smothering  vaults  shall  spurn, 
And,  like  a  steadfast  planet,  mount  and  bum — 

And  though  its  crown  of  flame 
Consumed  my  brain  to  ashes  as  it  shone — 
By  all  the  fiery  stars  !   I'd  bind  it  on  !  " 

EXAMPLES    IN    EMPHASIS    AND    SLIDE. 

1.  "  True  eloquence,  indeed,  does  not  consist  in  speech." 

2.  "  Sink  or  swim,  live  or  die,  I  am  for  the  declaration." 

3.  "  I  will  not,  MUST  not,  DARE  not  grant  your  wish." 

4.  "  It  must  exist  in  the  man,  in  the  subject,  and  in  the   OCCA- 

SION." 

5.  '*'  John  Maynard  was  well  known  in  the  lake  district  as  a  God- 
fearing, honest  and  intelligent  pilot." 

6    "  In  her  attic  window  the  staff  she  set, 
To  show  that  one  heart  was  LOYAL  vet." 


APPENDIX.  185 


EXAMPLES    OF    THE    RHETORICAL    PAUSE. 

1.  "  He  has  passed  to  that  world  |  where  the  weary  are  at  rest." 

2.  "  Tell  father  when  he  comes  from  work,  I  said  |  good  night  | 

to  him.  ' 

3.  "  I  come  to  bury  !  Caesar,  not  to  praise  |  him  " 

4.  "  There's  but  one  pair  of  stockings  |  to  mend  to-night.'' 

5.  "  'Twas  said  |  that  far  through  the  forest  wild, 

Arid  over  the  mountain  bold, 
Was  a  land  |  whose  rivers  and  darkening  caves  | 
Were  gemmed  with  the  rarest  gold." 

EXAMPLES    OF    PERSONATION. 

1.  "  '  But  General.'  cried  the  veteran,  a  flush  upon  his  brow, 

The  very  men  who  fought  with  us,  they  say  are  traitors 
now. '  " 

2.  "  '  How  far  are  we  from  Buffalo  ? ' 
'  Seven  miles.1 

1  How  long  before  we  can  reach  there  1  ' 

'  Three-quarters  of  an  hour  at  our  present  rate  of  steam.'  " 

3    "  She  leaned  far  out  on  the  window-sill, 
And  shook  it  forth  with  a  royal  will, 
'  Shoot,  if  you  must,  this  old  gray  heaji, 
But  spare  your  country's  flag,'  she  said." 

4.  "  No,  thank  ye,  sir, — I  never  drink  ; 

Roger  and  I  are  exceedingly  moral. 
Aren't  we,  Roger  ? — see  him  wink  ! — 

Well,  something  hot,  then — we  won't  quarrel." 

All  the  exercises  given  in  this  appendix  are  selected  from 
pieces  which  are  given  in  full  in  this  volume.  By  careful 
study  of  the  analysis  here  given  the  student  will  have  a  bet- 
ter appreciation  of  the  pieces  themselves,  and,  therefore,  be 
better  prepared  to  begin  the  study  of  them.  The  examples 
of  personation  are  given  without  any  special  analysis — we 
need  give  none — we  would  simply  repeat  what  we  have  said 
before  ;  clearly  understand  the  character,  and  imitate  true  to  life. 


186  APPENDIX. 

We  would  ask  the  student  ever  to  bear  this  thought  in 
mind — Be  natural.  You  should  be  students  of  nature  and 
observers  of  men.  Do  not  confound  the  word  "  natural  " 
with  the  word  "  habitual.*'  The  habits  into  which  you  have 
fallen  may  be  wrong — your  habitual  style  of  reading  may  be 
very  incorrect — but  if  you  follow  nature's  laws  you  cannot 
err.  Cultivate  an  easy  and  graceful  position  and  carriage, 
and  study  the  true  philosophy  of  gesture  for  the  natural  ex- 
pression of  thought. 

We  would  suggest  as  one  of  the  best  methods  of  teaching 
gesture  that  the  teacher  have  the  class  rise  and  take  one  of 
two  positions,  i.  e.,  the  weight  resting  on  either  right  or  left 
foot.  He  should  practise  them  in  advancing  and  retiring — 
requiring  them  to  step  as  he  counts.  The  exercise  will  in- 
spire confidence,  and  relieve  all  of  any  embarrassment  which 
they  might  feel  if  called  up  one  by  one.  Continue  this  ex- 
ercise until  all  move  naturally  and  easily.  Give  the  class 
now  some  simple  sentence  requiring  a  single  gesture — have 
them  recite  the  sentence  and  make  the  gesture  with  you — 
next,  take  a  passage  from  some  selection  and  have  them  give 
it  with  all  the  gestures.  The  teacher  during  this  exercise 
should  always  stand  in  front  of  the  class,  and  give  them  a 
correct  model.  We  well  know  that  no  work  011  this  subject 
can  fully  supply  the  place  of  a  living  teacher.  We  have 
taken  it  for  granted  that  the  teacher  knows  how  to  gesticu- 
late himself.  An  elocutionary  exercise  must  be  a  dull  and 
lifeless  one  if  the  teacher  be  ignorant  of  the  art  of  reading. 
We  now  place  this  little  manual  in  the  hands  of  earnest 
teachers,  trusting  that  they  will  iind  in  it  a  sufficient  number 
and  variety  of  selections  to  meet  the  demands  of  the  school- 
room. 


TESTIMONIALS. 


From  Prof.  J.   V.  N.  STANDISH,  A.M.,  late  President  of  the  Illinois  State 
Teachers'1  Association. 

«  *  *  *  "\YTiile  here  Mr.  F.  B.  WILSON  has  taught  several  classes  in 
Elocution,  and  with  great  success.  From  his  large  experience  in  teaching 
this  important  branch  of  education,  it  is  with  pleasure  I  recommend  him  to 
public  confidence." 

GALESBUBG,  ILL.,  June  21,  1866. 


From  Rev.  James  H.  HERRON,  A.M.,  President  of  Springfield  Female  College  t 

Ohio. 

"  It  gives  me  pleasure  to  say  that  I  think  the  young  ladies  of  this  institu- 
tion have  derived  substantial  advantage  from  the  instruction  of  Mr.  WILSON. 
APRIL  10,  1867. 


1         From  J.  C.  SMALL,   LL.JB.,  President  Business  College,  Zan&svilU,  Ohio. 

"  Mr.  F.  B.  WILSON  has  given  several  lectures  and  readings  to  our  students 
with  entire  satisfaction.  I  regard  him  as  thoroughly  competent  to  teach 
elocution,  and  take  pleasure  in  recommending  him  to  the  confidence  of  the 
public." 

MAY  10,  1867. 


From  Rev.  J.  P.  WESTON,  D.D.,  President  of  Lombard  University,  Oaleslurgt 
Illinois. 

"  This  may  certify  that  Mr.  F.  B.  WILSON,  of  New  York,  has,  during  the 
past  term,  given  instruction  in  Lombard  University  to  a  class  in  elocution, 
very  much  to  my  satisfaction  and  to  the  profit  of  the  cla&s.  I  cheerfully 
commend  him  to  public  confidence  and  patronage ." 

JUNE  21,  1866. 

187 


188  TESTIMONIALS. 

From  Rev.  SAMUEL  SPRECHER,  D.D.,  President  of  Wittenberg  College,  Ohio. 

"  It  gives  me  pleasure  to  say  that  Prof.  WILSON  has  fulfilled  his  engage- 
ment as  a  teacher  of  Elocution  in  our  institution  in  a  very  satisfactory  man- 
ner. The  class  seem  to  have  been  greatly  pleased  and  benefitted  by  his 
instructions.  I  think  we  have  never  been  visited  by  a  more  successful  teacher 
of  Elocution." 

MAY  31,  1867. 


From  Rev.  J.  L.  RODGERS,  A.M.,  Principal  of  Springfield  Female  Seminary, 

Ohio. 

"  Prof.  F.  B.  WILSON  has  taught  a  class  in  Elocution  in  the  Springfield 
Female  Seminary  with  excellent  success.  I  regard  him  as  well  qualified  to 
give  instruction  in  Elocution." 

APRIL  5,  1867. 


From  Rev.  DA  VID  PA  UL,  A.M.,  President  of  Muskingum  College,  New  Concord, 

Ohio. 

"  Prof.  WILSON  has  lately  visited  Muskingum  College  and  taught  a  class  in 
Elocution.  It  affords  me  pleasure  to  say  that  I  believe  he  has  given  much 
substantial  and  valuable  instruction.  His  enthusiasm  in  his  profession 
promises  complete  Success ;  and  his  social  disposition  and  moral  character 
render  him  worthy  of  public  confidence  and  patronage." 

MAY  6, 1867. 


DICK    &    FITZGERALD, 

PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK. 


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best  hits  of  the  leading  negro  delineators  of  the  present  time,  as  well  as 
mirth-provoking  jokes  and  repartees  of  the  most  celebrated  End-Men  of  the 
day,  and  specially  designed  for  the  introduction  of  fun.  ir.  an  evening's  en- 
tertainment. Paper  covers.  Price 30  cts. 

Bound  in  boards,  illuminated 50  cts. 

Frost's  Original  Letter- Writer.    A  complete  collection  of 

Original  Letters  and  Notes,  upon  every  imaginable  subject  of  Every-Day 
"Life,  with  plain  directions  about  everything  connected  with  writing  a  letter. 
Containing  Letters  of  Introduction,  Letters  on  l.nsiness,  Letters  answering 
Advertisements,  Letters  of  liecommendal  ion,  Applications  for  Employment, 
Letters  of  Congratulation,  of  Condolence,  of  Friendship  and  Relationship, 
Love  Lei  tors.  Notes  of  Invitation,  Notes  Accompanying  Ciifts,  Letters  of 
Favor,  of  Advice,  and  Letters  of  Excuse,  together  with  an  appropriate 
answer  to  each.  The  whole  embracing  three  hundred  letters  and  notes.  By 
S.  A.  FUOST,  author  of  "  The  Parlor  Stage,"  "•  Dialogues  for  Young  Eolks," 
etc.  To  which  is  added  a  comprehensive  Table  .of  Synonyms  alone  worth 
double  the  price  asked  for  the-  book.  This  work  is  not  a  rehash  of  English 
writers,  but  is  entirely  practical  and  original,  and  suited  to  the  wants  ot  the 
American  public.  We  assure  our  readers  that  it  is  the  best  collection  of 
letters  ever  published  in  this  country.  Bound  in  boards,  cloth  back,  vit h 
illuminated  sides.  Price .* 50  cts. 

Inquire  Within  for  Anything  you  Want  to  Know  ;  or,  Over 
3,700  Facts  for  the  People.  "Inquire  Within  "  is  one  ot  the  most  valuable 
and  extraordinary  volumes  ever  presented  to  the  American  public,  and 
embodies  nearly  4,000  facts,  in  most  of  which  any  person  will  find  instruc- 
tion, aid  and  entertainment.  It  contains  so  many  valuable  recipes,  that 
an  enumeration  of  them  requires  seventy-two  columns  of  fine  type  for  //«• 
index.  Illustrated.  436  large  pages.  Price $1  50 

The  Sociable  ;  or,  One  Thousand  and  One  Hom.e  Amwiemcnts. 
Containing  Acting  Proverbs,  Dramatic  Charades,  Acting  Charades,Tableaux 
Vivants,  Parlor  Games  and  Parlor  Magic,  and  a  choice  collection  of  Puzzles, 
etc.,  illustrated  with  nearly  300  Engravings  and  Diagrams,  the  whole  being 
a  fund  of  never-ending  entertainment.  By  the  author  of  the  "  Magician's 
Own  Book."  Nearly  400  pages,  12  mo.  cloth,  gilt  side  stamp.  Price.  .$1 50 

Martinets  Hand-Book  of  Etiquette  and  Guide  to  True  Po- 

esS.  A  complete  Manual  for  all  thos-e  who  desire  to  understand  good 
fling,  the  customs  of  good  society,  and  to  avoid  incorrect  and  vulgaf 
habits.  Containing  clear  and  comprehensive  directions  for  correct  manners, 
conversation,  dress,  introductions,  rules  for  good  behavior  at  Dinner  Partiea 
and  the  table,  with  hints  on  wine  and  carving  at  the  table ;  together  with 
Etiquette  of  the  Ball  and  Assembly  Room.,  Evening  Parties,  and  the  usagea 
to  be  observed  when  visiting  or  receiving  calls ;  deportment  in  the  street 
and  when  travelling.  To  which  is  added  the  Etiquette  of  Courtship  and 

M-arriage.     Bound  in  boards,  with  cloth  back.     Price 50  ctSL 

Bourn'    A  cloth,  gilt  side 75  cts. 

Day's  American  Ready-Reckoner,  containing  Tables  for 

rapid  calculations  of  Aggregate  Values,  Wages,  Salaries,  Board,  Interest 
Money,  &e.,  <Src.  Also,  Tables  of  Timber,  Plank,  Board  and  Log  Measure- 
ments, with  full  explanations  how  to  measure  them,  either  by  the  square, 
foot  (board  measure),  cubic  foot  (timber  measure1,  &c.  Bound  in  boards. 

Pi  ice 50  CtS. 

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Popular  Books  sent  Free  of  Postage  at  the  Prices  annexed. 
The  Courtship  and  Adventures  of  Jonathan  Homebred ; 

or,  The   Scrapes  and  Escapes  of  a  Live  Yankee.     Beautifully  Illustrated. 
J2iao.,  cloth.     This  book  is  printed  in  handsome  style,  on  good  paper,  and 
with  amusing  eneravings. 
Price T. gl  50 

The    Wizard    of    the    North's   Hand-Book   of   Natural 

Magic.     Bting  a  series  of  the  Newest  Tricks  of  Deception,  arranged  for 
Aniaieurs  and  Lovers  of  the  Art.    By  Professor  J.  H.  AM^iisox,  the  great 
"Wizard  of  the  North. 
Price .25  Cts. 

The  Encyclopedia  of  Popular  Songs.    Being  a  compila- 
tion of  all   the  new  and  fashionable  Patriotic,  Sentimental,  Ethiopian, 
Humorous,  Comic  and  Convivial  bongs,  the  whole  comprising  over  400 
gongs. 
l-2mo.,  cloth,  gilt.    Price $1  25 

Tony  Pastor's  Book  of  600  Comic  Songs  and  Speeches, 

Being  an  entire  collection  of  all  the  Humorous  Songs,  Stump  Speeches, 
Burlesque  Orations,  Funny  Scenes,  Comic  Duets,  Diverting  Dialogues,  and 
Local  Lyrics,  as  sung  and  given  by  the  unrivaled  Comic  Vocalist  and  Stump 
Orator,  TONY  PASTOR. 
Bound  in  boards,  cloth  back $1  00 

Yale  College  Scrapes  ;  or,  H<,w  the  Boys  Go  It  at  New  Haven, 

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at  Old  Yale  have  been 

25  eta, 

The  Comic  English  (iranunar ;  or,  A  Complete  grammar  of 

cur  Language,  with  Comic  Examples.  Illustrated  with  about  fifty  engrav- 
ings. Pries , 25  Ct3, 

The  Comical  Adventures  of  David  Bufiicks.    Illustrated 

•with  over  one  hundred  Funny  Engravings.    Large  octavo. 

Pries >..25ctB, 

Anecdotes  Of  Love,     Being  a  true  account  of  the  most  re- 
markable events  connected  with  the  History  of  Love  in  all  Ages  and  among: 
all  Nations.     By  LOLA  MOKTEZ,  Countess  of  Landsieldt. 
Large  12mo.,  cloth.    Price ,.... >...%\  50 

Tony  Pastor's  Complete  Budget  of  Comic  Songs,    Con- 
taining a  complete  collection  of  the  "New  and  Original  Songs,  Burlesque 
Orations,  Stump  Speeches,  Comic  Dialogues,  Pathetic  Ballads,  as  sung  and 
given  by  the  celebrated  Vocalist,  TONY  PASTOE. 
Cloth,  gilt.    Price gl  25 

The  Laughable  Adventures  of  Messrs.  Brown,  Joaes  and 

[Robinson.    Showing  where  they  went  and  how  they  went ;  what  they  did 

and   bow  they  did  it.    With  nearly  two  hundred  most  thrillingiy  comic 

engravings. 

Price ,., , 30  cts. 

De  Walden's   Bali-Room    Companion;  or,  Dancing  ILide 

Easy.  A  collection  of  the  Fashionable  Drawing-Boom  Dances,  with  full 
directions  for  dancing  all  the  figures  of  "  The  German.*'  I  LucWAi- 
DEX,  ProfeSsor  of  Dancing.  BouM  in  boards,  cloth  back 50  cts. 


This  is  a  book  of  114  pages,  containing  accounts  of  all  the  noted  and 
inous  "  Scrapes  "  and  "  Sprees,"  of  which  students  a 
guilty  for  the  last  quarter  of  a  century. 
Price 


Popular  f? >    I  yen:  Free  of  Postage  at  the  "  .nezed. 


The  Social..-:  /',  One  Thousand  a'"<l  On-:  v.&einentx 
Containing  Acting  Proverbs,  Charades,  Musical  Burlesques,  Tableaux 
Vivants,  Parlor  Games,  Forfeits,  Parlor  Magic,  and  a  choice  collection  oi 
curious  mental  and  mechanical  puzzles,  etc.  Illustrated  with  engraving 
and  diagrams. 
12mo.,  cloth,  gilt  side  stamp.  Price 81  5( 

Prank  Converse's  Complete  Banjo  Instructor,  without  a 

Master.     Containing  a  choice  collection  of  Banjo  Solos.  Hornpipes,  E eels 
Jigs,  Walk-Arpunds,  Songs  and  Banjo  Stories,  i)rogressiveiy  array  . 
plainly  explained,  enabling-  the  learner  to  become  a  proficient  ban  jo:-' 
out  the  aid  or  a  teacher.     Illustrated  with  diagrams  and  explanatory  sym- 
bols.     100  pages.     Bound  in  boards,  cloih  back.     Price 50  Cts 

The  Magician's  Own  Book.     Containing  several  hundred 
amusing   Sleight-of-hand  and  Card  Tricks,  Perplexing  Puzzles,  Entertain- 
ing Tricks  and  Secret  Writing  Explained.     Illustrated  with  over  500  wooc 
engravings. 
12mo.,  cloth,  gilt  side  and  back  stamp.    Price ' £1  5( 

The  Secret  Ollt;  or,  One  Thousand  Tricks  w>th  Cards.     A  boolj 
which   explains  all  the  Tricks   and  Deceptions  with   Playing  Cards  cvei 
known  or  invented.     Illustrated  with  over  3GO  engravings. 
398  pages,  12mo.,  cloth,  gilt  side.    Price '. $1  5C 

Book  of  Riddles  and  500  Home  Amusements.    Containing 

all  kind  ;of  Curious  Kiddles,  Amusing  Puzzles,  Queer  Sleights  and  Enter- 
taming  Recreations  in  Science,  for  Family  and  Social  Pastime^  Illustrates 

with  GO  engravings.    Paper  covers.     Price 30  Cts 

Bound  in  boards,  cloth  back , 50  cts- 

Parlor  Tricks  With  Cards.  Containing  explanations  of  all 
the  Deceptions  with  Playing  Cards  ever  invented.  The  whole  illustrated 
and  made  easy  with  70  engravings. 

Paper  covers.     Price 30  cts- 

Bound  in  boards,  cloth  back 50  Cts. 

The  Book  Of  Fireside  Games.  Containing  a  description 
of  the  most  Entertaining  Games  suited  to  the  Family  Circle  as  a  Recrea- 
tion. Paper  covers.  Price 30  cts- 

Bound  in  boards,  cloth  back 50  ctS- 

The  Play-Room;  or,  Li-Door  Game*  for  Boys  and  G  iris.  Small 
octavo,  profusely  illustrated  wilh  197  fine  wood -cuts. 

Bound  in  boards,  cloth  back.     Price 50  cts. 

Bound  in  cloth,  gilt  side 75  CtS. 

The  Play-Ground;  or,  Out-Dw  Qamttfor Boy*.    A  hook  of 

healthy  recreations  for  youth.     Containing  over  100  Amusements.     Illus- 
trated with  124  fine  wood -cuts. 

Bound  in  boards,  cloth  back.    Price 50  cts. 

Bound  in  cloth,  gilt  side 75  Cts. 

The  Parlor  Magician ;  or,  One  lit/wired  Tritfa  for  the  Draw- 
ing-Room. Illustrated  and  clearly  explained,  with  121  engravings. 

Paper  covers.     Price ?0  cts. 

Boards,  cloth  back 50  cts- 

The  Book  of  500  CnriOHS  Puzzles,  Containing  all  kinds 
of  entertaining1  Paradoxes,  Deceptions  in  Numbers,  etc.  Illustrated  with 

numerous  entrra vines.    Paper  covers.    Price SO  cts. 

Bound  in  boaras,  cloth  back 50  cts. 


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